PARENTAL INSTRUCTIONS; 



t $ 7 

GUIDE TO WISDOM AND VIRTUE 



DESIGNED 



FOR YOUNG PERSONS OF EITHER SEX. 



MAINLY FROM THE WRITINGS 



AN EMINENT PHYSICIAN. 



HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
82 CLIFF STREET, NEW YORK. 

1 846. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1846, by 

Harper & Brothers, 
In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New- York. 



PREFACE. 



How is the young mind to be enlightened upon the 
principles of piety and religion ; and how is the young 
heart to be duly impressed with those principles 1 The 
former is effected by the usual modes of inculcating 
truth. The authorized canons of moral law are to be 
analyzed and presented in a manner to gain the assent 
of the understanding. The process should be simple 
and lucid, but complete and forcible, so that no one es- 
cape legitimate inferences from well-established propo- 
sitions. For instance : the child is taught to look upon 
himself, not as the production of his own will and 
might, but as the work of some foreign agency. Hence, 
in an important sense, he belongs not to himself, but to 
the Being who created him. To this Being he must, 
of course, be under an irreversible allegiance. Nor 
does he find himself existing in the world alone. He 
is in the midst of multitudes, on whom he is, in a 
measure, dependent for the supply of his wants. To 
them, also, by the same process of reasoning, he is 
owing a species of allegiance. These are truths which 
even the young child may be enabled to comprehend. 

But the more difficult task is to impress duly the 
young heart with the belief of these truths. Something, 
without doubt, may be done, as in the other case, by 
abstract syllogisms ; yet that gush of virtuous affec- 



iv 



PREFACE. 



tion, which gives amiability to the human character, 
requires an additional instrument. They may give 
motion to the mental organization ; but in their action 
are as unsympathetic as any material mechanism with 
which we are acquainted. In giving activity to social 
impulses, some new and peculiar energy is to be ex- 
erted. The heart must be made to feel, as well as to 
know what is truth ; must be made to expand and con- 
tract from its own vitality, as well as receive impres- 
sions from external agencies. 

It is believed that symbolic language is the most effi- 
cient in developing the latent moral and social attri- 
butes of the soul. This language steals, as it were, 
unperceived upon the sensibilities of the young disciple 
of moral truth. He finds himself completely enclosed 
amid its soft filaments as a first result ; and the more 
he meditates on the truth presented to his mind, the 
more does he become enraptured with the picture. 

The compiler of this volume has long considered 
the writings of Dr. Percival, as richly abounding in 
the description of symbolic language most happily 
adapted to this desirable end. In making the selection 
from his posthumous works, in order to complete the 
volume, it was necessary to select from more miscella- 
neous sources several articles of a kindred character. 

Editor. 

New York, Oct. 1, 1843. 



CONTENTS. 



Pag*. 



i Cruelty to Insects. - - - - - 9 

Affection to Parents. - 10 

Taking of Birds' Nests 10 

Tenderness to Mothers. - - - - 11 

Intemperance. ------ 12 

Liberality. - -- -- -- 12 

Honesty and Generosity. ----- 13 

Parental Affection. ----- 13 

The Fallacy of External Appearance. 16 

Selfish Sorrow Reproved 17 

A Generous Return for an Injury. 18 

Cruelty to Insects. ----- 19 

Adherence to Truth. 20 

Folly and Odiousness of Affectation. 22 

Sloth contrasted with Industry. - 23 

Cultivate the Affections. - 25 

The Sun and the Moon 27 

The Child of Mercy 29 

The Youthful Solomon 30 

The Aged Solomon 31 

Affection extended to Inanimate Objects. - - 34 

Life is a Flower. 35 

Skepticism Condemned. ----- 36 

A View of the Starry Heavens. - 38 
Cleanliness. - -- -- --38 

Self-government 40 

i* 



vi 



CONTENTS. 



On bridling the Tongue. 40 

Gratitude and Piety. 43 

Envy and Discontent. ----- 45 

False Notions of Providence. - 46 

Cruelty in Experiments. 48 

Slander 49 

On Reading 53 

Mankind are dependent on each other. 55 

The two Roses 56 

The Fox and Spaniel. 57 

Love to our Neighbor. ----- 58 

Candor and Dignity. ----- 66 

Circumspection. - - - - 67 

The Weakness of Man. - 69 

Lying 71 

Vigilant Observation. 74 

Woman- as she should be. 76 

Agriculture. ------ 78 

Family Love and Harmony. 81 

Indian Gratitude ; European Injustice. - - 83 

Respect and Deference due to the Aged. - - 84 

Sisterly Unity and Love. - 84 

Good-natured Credulity. ----- 86 

An easy and instructive Experiment. - - 88 

Maternal Claims to Duty. 90 

Fraternal Affection 93 

The Canary-bird and Red Linnet. 96 

The Roving Fishes 101 



CONTENTS. Vii 

Page. 

The Passions should be governed by Reason. - 103 

A Female Character. 104 

Positiveness. ------- 105 

The Chameleon 106 

The true Enjoyments of Life. - - - - 108 

Perpetuity of Virtuous Friendship. - - 111 

Pride and Pedantry. 115 

Honest Poverty and Beneficence. - - - 123 

Integrity and its Reward. - 126 

The poor Widow of Japan 127 

What is true Pleasure 1 130 

The Close of Life. 131 

Beware of Drunkenness. - 134 

Description of a Battle. - 137 

Trust in Divine Providence 139 

Cowardice and Injustice ; Courage and Generosity. 142 

The Tiger and the Elephant. 144 

The tame Geese and wild Geese. - - - 145 

Beauty and Deformity. - 146 

The Jolly Fellow - 148 

Persecution. ------ 149 

Filial Reverence in China. - - - - 151 

Fraternal Love. - - - - - 153 

Meditation on the Material World. - - - 154 

The four Seasons of the Year. - - - 157 

Mischief its own Punishment. - - - - 159 

Two Heads better than one. - 165 

The Thorn-bushes 167 



Vlll 



CONTENTS. 



The Venomous Worm. 
The King-bird. 




The Almond Blossom. 177 



Esau selling his Birthright. - 


182 


The Infant's Prayer. - 


- 185 


Time and the Traveller. - 


186 


Man and inferior Animals. - 


- 189 


The Art of Memory. - 


192 


The Pedler and his Ass. - 


- 197 


The Bees 


198 


The Rattle-snake. 


- 199 




201 


The Chameleon and Porcupine. 


- 202 


The Man with one bad Habit. 


204 


The Moon and the River. - 


- 208 


The disobedient Boys. - 


210 


Robinson Crusoe 


- 215 




218 


Importance of Neatness. - 


- 220 


The Discontented Mole. - 


223 


The Use and Abuse of the Appetites. 


- 225 


Speculation and Practice. - 


230 


The Ways of Providence. - 


- 231 


Piety the Consummation of Morality. 


234 


The History of Joseph, abridged. 


- 244 



The Story of a Sixpence. 



178 



PARENTAL INSTRUCTIONS. 



CRUELTY TO INSECTS. 

Mr. Melmoth, in one of his elegant letters, 
informs his friends that the snails have had 
more than their share of his peaches and nec- 
tarines this season ; but that he deems it a 
sort of cruelty to suffer them to be destroyed. 
It seems to be his opinion, that it is no less in- 
human to crush to death a harmless insect, 
whose only offence is, that he eats the food 
which nature has provided for his sustenance, 
than it would be to kill a more bulky creature 
for the same reason. For the sensations of 
many insects are at least as exquisite as those 
of animals of more enlarged dimensions. The 
millepede rolls itself round upon the slight- 
est touch ; and the snail draws in her horns 
upon the first approach of the hand. Such 
instances of sensibility certainly confirm the 
observation of the inimitable Shakspeare, who 
teaches us that 

" the poor beetle which we tread upon, 

In corporeal sufferance feels a pang as great 
As when a giant dies." 



10 



TAKING OF BIRDS' NESTS. 



But whilst we encourage these amiable 
feelings of the heart, we must not forget that 
humanity itself may be carried to an unrea- 
sonable and even ridiculous extreme. Mr. 
Bayle relates that Bellarmine, a Romish saint, 
patiently suffered the fleas and other vermin 
to prey upon him. We shall have heaven, 
said he, to reward us for our sufferings, but 
these poor creatures have only the enjoyment 
of the present life. 



AFFECTION TO PARENTS. 

An amiable youth was lamenting, in terms 
of the sincerest grief, the death of a most af- 
fectionate parent. His companion endeavor- 
ed to console him by the reflection, that he 
had always behaved to the deceased with 
duty, tenderness, and respect. So I thought, 
replied the youth, whilst my parent was liv- 
ing ; but now I recollect, with pain and sor- 
row, many instances of disobedience and ne- 
glect, for which, alas ! it is too late to make 
atonement. 



TAKING OF BIRDS' NESTS. 

A boy, who was a great destroyer of nests, 
had carefully preserved one, that he might 
enjoy the cruel pleasure of confining in a cage 
the poor birds, who had the same natural 
right to liberty with himself. A hungry cat 



TENDERNESS TO MOTHERS. 



II 



discovered the nest, and devoured the un fea- 
thered brood. The boy bewailed his loss, and 
vowed revenge upon the cat ; not reflecting on 
the many nests which he had wantonly plun- 
dered, whilst the cat was impelled, by the 
dictates of nature, to satisfy a craving appe- 
tite. 



TENDERNESS TO MOTHERS. 

Mark that parent hen, said a father to his 
beloved son. With what anxious care does 
she call together her offspring, and cover them 
with expanded wings ! The kite is hovering 
in the air, and, disappointed of his prey, may 
perhaps dart upon the hen herself, and bear 
her off in his talons. Does not this sight sug- 
gest to you the tenderness and affection of 
your mother ? Her watchful care protected 
you in the helpless period of infancy, when 
she nourished you with her milk, taught your 
limbs to move, and your tongue to lisp its un- 
formed accents. In childhood she has mourn- 
ed over your little griefs ; has rejoiced in your 
innocent delights; has administered to you 
the healing balm in sickness ; and has in- 
stilled into your mind the love of truth, of vir- 
tue, and of wisdom. Oh ! cherish every sen- 
timent of respect for such a mother. She 
merits your warmest gratitude, esteem, and 
veneration. 



12 



LIBERALITY. 



INTEMPERANCE. 

Cyrus, when a youth, being at the court of 
his grandfather Astyages, undertook one day 
to be the cup-bearer at table. 

It was the duty of this officer to taste the 
liquor before it was presented to the king. — 
Cyrus, without performing this ceremony, de- 
livered the cup in a very graceful manner to 
his grandfather. The king reminded him of 
his omission, which he imputed to forgetful- 
ness. No, replied Cyrus, I was afraid to taste, 
because I apprehended there was poison in 
the liquor ; for not long since, at an entertain- 
ment which you gave, I observed that the 
lords of your court, after drinking it, became 
noisy, quarrelsome, and frantic. 

Even you, sir, seemed to have forgotten 
that you were a king. 



LIBERALITY. 

You have seen the husbandman scattering 
his seed upon the furrowed ground. It springs 
up, is gathered into his barns, and crowns his 
labors with joy and plenty. Thus the man 
who distributes his fortune with generosity 
and prudence, is amply repaid by the grati- 
tude of those whom he obliges, by the appro- 
bation of his own mind, and the favor of 
God. 



I 



PARENTAL AFFECTION. 



13 



HONESTY AND GENEROSITY. 

A poor man who was door-keeper to a house 
in Milan, found a purse which contained two 
hundred crowns. 

The man who had lost it, informed by a 
public advertisement, came to the house, and 
giving sufficient proof that the purse belonged 
to him, the door-keeper restored it. Full of 
joy and gratitude, the owner offered his bene- 
factor twenty crowns, which he absolutely 
refused. 

Ten were then proposed, and afterwards 
five ; but the door-keeper still continuing in- 
exorable, the man threw his purse upon the 
ground, and in an angry tone cried, " I have 
lost nothing, nothing at all, if you thus refuse 
to accept of a gratuity." The door-keeper 
then consented to receive five crowns, which 
he immediately distributed amongst the poor. 



PARENTAL AFFECTION. 

The white bear of Greenland and Spitzber- 
gen is considerably larger than the brown 
bear of Europe, or the black bear of North 
America. This animal lives upon fish and 
seals, and is not only seen upon land in the 
countries bordering on the North Pole, but 
often on floats of ice, several leagues at sea* 
The following relation is extracted from the 
2 



14 



PARENTAL AFFECTION. 



Journal of a Voyage for making Discoveries 
towards the North Pole. 

Early in the morning, the man at the mast- 
head of the Carcase gave notice that three 
bears were making their way very fast over 
the ice, and that they were directing their 
course towards the ship. They had, without 
question, been invited by the scent of the 
blubber of a sea-horse, killed a few days be- 
fore, which the men had set on fire, and which 
was burning on the ice at the time of their 
approach. They proved to be a she-bear and 
her two cubs ; but the cubs were nearly as 
large as the dam. 

They ran eagerly to the fire, and drew out 
from the flames part of the flesh of the sea- 
horse, that remained unconsumed, and ate it 
voraciously. The crew from the ship threw 
great lumps of the flesh of the sea-horse, 
which they had still left, upon the ice, which 
the old bear fetched away singly, laid up 
every lump before her cubs as she brought it, 
and dividing it, gave each a share, reserving 
but a small portion to herself. As she was 
fetching away the last piece, they levelled 
their muskets at the cubs, and shot them both 
dead ; and in her retreat they wounded the 
dam, but not mortally. 

It would have drawn tears of pity from any 
but unfeeling minds, to have marked the affec- 
tionate concern expressed by this poor beast, 
in the last moments of her expiring young. 



PARENTAL AFFECTION. 



15 



Though she was sorely wounded, and could 
but just crawl to the place where they lay, 
she carried the lump of flesh she had fetched 
away, as she had done others before, tore it 
in pieces, and laid it down before them ; and 
when she saw that they refused to eat, she 
laid her paws first upon one, and then upon 
the other, and endeavored to raise them up : 
all this while it was pitiful to hear her moan. 
When she found she could not stir them, she 
went off, and when she had gotten at some 
distance, she looked back and moaned ; and 
that not availing her to entice them away, 
she returned, and smelling round them, began 
to lick their wounds. She went off a second 
time as before ; and having crawled a few 
paces, looked again behind her, and for some 
time stood moaning. But still her cubs not 
rising to follow her, she returned to them 
again, and with signs of inexpressible fond- 
ness, went round one and round the other, 
pawing them and moaning. Finding at last 
that they were cold and lifeless, she raised 
her head towards the ship and growled a curse 
upon the murderers ; which they returned with 
a volley of musket balls. She fell between 
her cubs, and died licking their wounds. 

Can you admire the maternal affection of 
the bear, and not feel in your heart the warm- 
est emotions of gratitude, for the stronger and 
more permanent tenderness you have so long 
experienced from your parents ? 



16 



FALLACY OF EXTERNAL APPEARANCE* 



THE FALLACY OF EXTERNAL APPEARANCE. 

Is tliere any hidden beauty, said Alexis to 
Euphronius, in that dusky ill-shaped stone, 
which you examine with so much attention ? 
I am admiring the wonderful properties, not 
the beauty, replied Euphronius, w _ hich it pos- 
sesses. It is by means of this stone that the 
mariner steers his trackless course through 
the vast ocean ; and without it the spices of 
the East, the mines of Peru, and all the luxu- 
ries which commerce pours in upon us would 
forever remain unknown. 

The curiosity of Alexis was excited, and he 
was impatient to learn in what wonderful 
manner such advantages could be derived 
from a substance apparently of so little value. 
This magnet or loadstone, (for it is known by 
both names,) said Euphronius, imparts to iron 
the property of settling itself, when nicely 
balanced, in a direction nearly north and 
south. The sailor is, therefore, furnished with 
an unerring guide in the midst of the ocean : 
for when he faces the north, the east and west 
are readily ascertained, the former lying to 
his right, and the latter to his left hand ; and 
from these several points, the subdivisions of 
the mariner's compass are formed. The figure 
of a star, which you so often draw upon paper, 
will give you a clear idea of the compass. 
Make yourself a master of it ; and from the 
present instance of your want of knowledge, 



SELFISH SORROW REPROVED. 



17 



learn a becoming modesty in the judgments 
which you form concerning the productions 
of nature. The whole creation is the work- 
manship of an omnipotent Being : and though 
we cannot always trace the marks of harmo- 
ny, beauty, or usefulness; yet doubtless to 
the eye of a superior intelligence, every part 
of it displays infallible wisdom and unbound- 
ed goodness. 

SELFISH SORROW REPROVED., 

It was a holyday in the month of June, and 
Alexis had prepared himself to set out, with 
a party of his companions, upon a little jour- 
ney of pleasure. But the sky lowered, the 
clouds gathered, and he remained for some 
time in anxious suspense about his expedition ; 
which at last was prevented by heavy and 
continued rain. The disappointment over- 
powered his fortitude ; he burst into tears, 
lamented the untimely change of weather, 
and sullenly refused all consolation. 

In the evening the clouds were dispersed, 
the sun shone with unusual brightness, and 
the face of nature seemed to be renewed in 
vernal beauty. Euphronius conducted Alexis 
into the fields. The storm of passion in his 
breast was now stilled ; and the serenity of 
the air, the music of the feathered songsters, 
the verdure of the meadows, and the sweet 
perfumes which breathed around, regaled 
2* 



18 GENEROUS RETURN FOR AN INJURT. 

every sense, and filled his mind with peace 
and joy. 

Don't you remark, said Euphronius, the de- 
lightful change which has suddenly taken 
place in the whole creation ? 

Recollect the appearance of the scene be- 
fore us yesterday. The ground was then 
parched with a long drought ; the flowers hid 
their drooping heads ; no fragrant odors were 
perceived ; and vegetation seemed to cease. 
To what cause must we impute the revival 
of nature ? To the rain which fell this morn- 
ing, replied Alexis, with a modest confusion. 
He was struck with the selfishness and folly 
of his own conduct ; and his own bitter re- 
flections anticipated the reproofs of Euphro- 
nius. 



A GENEROUS RETURN FOR AN INJURY. 

When the great Conde commanded the 
Spanish army, and laid siege to one of the 
French towns in Flanders, a soldier being ill- 
treated by a general officer, and struck seve- 
ral times with a cane, for some disrespectful 
words he had let fall, answered very coolly, 
that he should soon make him repent of it. 
Fifteen days afterwards, the same general 
officer ordered the colonel of the trenches to 
find a bold and intrepid fellow to execute an 
important enterprise, for which he promised 
a reward of a hundred pistoles. 



CRUELTY TO INSECTS. 



19 



The soldier we are speaking of, who passed 
for the bravest in the regiment, offered his 
service, and going with thirty of his comrades, 
which he had the liberty to make choice of, 
he discharged a very hazardous commission 
with incredible courage and good fortune. 
Upon his return the general officer highly 
commended him, and gave him the hundred 
pistoles which he had promised. The soldier 
presently distributed them amongst his com- 
rades, saying he did not serve for pay, and 
demanded only that, if his late action seemed 
to deserve any recompense, they would make 
him an officer. And now, sir, adds he to the 
general, who did not know him, I am the sol- 
dier whom you abused so much fifteen days 
ago, and I then told you I would make you 
repent of it. The general, in great admira- 
tion, and melting into tears, threw his arms 
around his neck, begged his pardon, and gave 
him a commission that very day. 



CRUELTY TO INSECTS. 

A certain youth indulged himself in the 
cruel entertainment of torturing and killing 
flies. He tore off their wings and legs, and 
then watched, with pleasure, their impotent 
efforts to escape from him. Sometimes he 
collected a number of them together, and 
crushed them at once to death ; glorying, like 
many a celebrated hero, in the devastation he 



20 



ADHERENCE TO TRUTH. 



committed. Alexis remonstrated with him, 
in vain, on this barbarous conduct. He could 
not persuade him to believe that flies are ca- 
pable of pain, and have a right, no less than 
ourselves, to life, liberty, and enjoyment. The 
signs of agony, which, when tormented, they 
express, by the quick and various contortions 
of their bodies, he neither understood, nor 
would attend to. 

Alexis had a microscope ; and he desired 
his companion, one day, to examine a most 
beautiful and surprising animal. Mark, said 
he, how it is studded from head to tail with 
black and silver, and its body all over beset 
with the most curious bristles! The head 
contains a pair of lively eyes, encircled with 
silver hairs ; and the trunk consists of two 
parts, which fold over each other. 

The whole body is ornamented with plumes 
and decorations, which surpass all the luxu- 
ries of dress in the courts of the greatest 
princes. Pleased and astonished with what 
he saw, the youth was impatient to know the 
name and properties of this wonderful ani- 
mal. It was withdrawn from the magnifier ; 
and when offered to his naked eye, proved to 
be a poor fly, which had been the victim of 
his wanton cruelty. 



ADHERENCE TO TRUTH. 

Petrarch, a celebrated Italian poet, who 



ADHERENCE TO TRUTH. 



21 



flourished about four hundred years ago, re- 
commended himself to the confidence and 
affection of Cardinal Colonna, in whose fam- 
ily he resided, by his candor and strict regard 
to truth. 

A violent quarrel occurred in the household 
of this nobleman, which was carried so far, 
that recourse was had to arms. The cardi- 
nal wished to know the foundation of this 
affair ; and that he might be able to decide 
with justice, he assembled all his people, and 
obliged them to bind themselves, by a most 
solemn oath on the Gospels, to declare the 
whole truth. Every one, without exception, 
submitted to this determination ; even the 
Bishop of Luna, brother to the cardinal, was 
not excused. Petrarch, in his turn, presenting 
himself to take the oath, the cardinal closed 
the book, and said, " As to you, Petrarch, your 
word is sufficient."* 

A story similar to this is related of Zeno- 
crates, an Athenian philosopher, who lived 
three hundred years before Christ, and he 
was educated in the school of Plato. 

The people of Athens entertained so high 
an opinion of his probity, that one day when 
he approached the altar, to confirm by an 
oath the truth of what he had asserted, the 
judges unanimously declared his word to be 
sufficient evidence. 

* See the Life of Petrarch, elegantly translated by 
Mrs. Dobson. 



22 



FOLLY OF AFFECTATION. 



FOLLY AND ODIOUSNESS OF AFFECTATION. 

Lucy, and Emilia, and Sophronia, seated 
on a bank of daisies, near a purling stream, 
were listening to the music of a neighboring 
grove. The sun gilded with his setting 
beams the western sky; gentle zephyrs 
breathed around ; and the feathered songsters 
seemed to vie with each other in their even- 
ing notes of gratitude and praise. Delight- 
ed with the artless melody of the linnet, 
the goldfinch, the woodlark, and the thrush, 
they were all ear, and observed not a peacock, 
which had strayed from a distant farm, and 
was approaching them with a majestic pace, 
and expanded plumage. The harmony of 
the concert was soon interrupted by the loud 
and harsh cries of this stately bird ; which, 
though chased by Emilia, continued its vo- 
ciferations with the confidence that conscious 
beauty too often inspires. 

Does this foolish bird, said Lucy, fancy that 
he is qualified to sing, because he is furnished 
with a spreading tail, ornamented with the 
richest colors ? I know not, replied Sophro- 
nia, whether the peacock be capable of such 
reflection ; but I hope that you and Emilia 
will always avoid the display of whatever is 
inconsistent with your sex, your station, or 
your character. Shun affectation in all its 
odious forms ; assume no borrowed airs ; and 
be content to please, to shine, or to be useful, 



SLOTH CONTRASTED WITH INDUSTRY. 23 

in the way which nature points out, and which 
reason approves. 

SLOTH CONTRASTED WITH INDUSTRY. 

The Sloth is an animal of South America ; 
and is so ill-formed for motion, that a few 
paces are often the journey of a week ; and 
so indisposed to move, that he never changes 
his place but when impelled by the severest 
stings of hunger. He lives upon the leaves, 
fruit, and flowers of trees, and often on the 
bark itself, when nothing besides is left for 
his subsistence. As a large quantity of food 
is necessary for his support, he generally 
strips a tree of all its verdure in less than a 
fortnight ; and being then destitute of food he 
drops down, like a lifeless mass, from the 
branches to the ground. 

After remaining torpid some time, from the 
shock received by the fall, he prepares for a 
journey to some neighboring tree, to which 
he crawls with a motion almost impercepti- 
ble. At length arrived, he ascends the trunk, 
and devours with famished appetite whatever 
the branches afford. By consuming the bark, 
he soon destroys the life of the tree ; and thus 
the source is lost, from which his sustenance 
is derived. Such is the miserable state of 
this slothful animal. 

How different are the comforts and enjoy- 
ments of the industrious Beaver ! This ere a- 



24 SLOTH CONTRASTED WITH INDUSTRY. 

ture is found in the northern America ; and 
is about two feet long, and one foot high. 
The figure of it somewhat resembles that of 
a rat. In the months of June and July, the 
bearers assemble and form a society, which 
generally consists of more than two hundred. 
They always fix their abode by the side of a 
lake or river ; and in order to make a dead 
water above and below, they erect, with in- 
credible labor, a dam or pier, perhaps four- 
score or a hundred feet long, and ten or 
twelve feet thick at the base. When this 
dike is completed, they build their several 
apartments, which are divided into three 
stories. The first is beneath the level of the 
mole, and is partly full of water. The walls 
of their habitations are perpendicular, and 
about two feet thick. If any wood pro- 
ject from them, they cut it off with their 
teeth, which are more serviceable than saws ; 
and by the help of their tails, they plaster all 
their works with a kind of mortar, which they 
prepare of dry grass and clay, mixed together. 
In August or September they begin to lay up 
their stores of food ; which consists of the 
wood of the birch, the plane, and of some 
other trees. Thus they pass the gloomy win- 
ter in ease and plenty. 

These two American animals, contrasted 
with each other, afford a most striking picture 
of the blessing of industry, and the penury 
and wretchedness of sloth. 



CULTIVATE THE AFFECTIONS. 



25 



CULTIVATE THE AFFECTIONS. 
"Father, forgive them." 

Go, proud infidel — search the pondrous vol- 
umes of heathen learning ; explore the works 
of Confucius — examine the precepts of Sen- 
eca and the writings of Socrates — collect all 
the excellences of the ancient and modern 
moralists, and point to the sentence equal to 
this simple prayer of the Saviour. Reviled 
and insulted — suffering the grossest indigni- 
ties, crowned with thorns, and led away to 
die, no annihilating curse breaks from his 
breast. Sweet and placid as the aspirations 
of a mother for her nursling, ascends a prayer 
of mercy on his enemies. " Father, forgive 
them. 5 ' O, it was worthy of its origin, and 
stamped with the bright seal of truth that his 
mission was from heaven ! 

Acquaintances, have you ever quarrelled ? 
Friends, have you differed ? If He who is 
pure and perfect, forgave his bittered enemies, 
do you well to cherish your anger ? Brothers, 
to you the precept is imperative ; you shall for- 
give not seven times, but seventy times seven. 

Brothers and sisters, you have no right to 
expect perfection in each other. To err is 
the lot of humanity. Illness will sometimes 
make you petulant, and disappointment ruffle 
the smoothest temper. Guard, I beseech you, 
with unremitting vigilance, your passions ; 
controlled, they are the genial heat that 

3 



26 



CULTIVATE THE AFFECTIONS. 



warms us along the way of life — ungoverned, 
they are consuming fires. Let your strife be 
one of respectful attentions, and conciliatory 
conduct. Cultivate with care the kind and 
gentle affections of the heart. Plant not, but 
eradicate the thorn that grows in each other's 
path. Above all, let no feeling of revenge 
find harbor in your breast ; let the sun never i 
go down on your anger. A kind word, an 
obliging action — if it be a trifling concern — 
has a power superior to the harp of David 
in calming the billows of the soul. 

Revenge is as incompatible with happiness 
as hostile to religion. Let him whose heart 
is black with malice and studious of revenge,, 
walk through the fields when clad with ver- 
dure, or adorned with flowers — to his eye 
there is no beauty ; the flowers to him exhale 
no fragrance. Dark as his soul, nature is 
robed in deepest sable. The smile of beauty 
lights not up his bosom with joy ; but the j 
furies of hell rage in his breast and render 
him as miserable as he would wish the object 
of his hate. 

But let him lay his hand upon his breast, 
and say, " Revenge, I cast thee from me : j 
Father, forgive mine enemies," and nature 
assumes a new and delightful garniture. 
Then, indeed, are meads verdant and the 
flowers fragrant — then is the music of the 
groves delightful to his ear, and the smiles of 
virtuous beauty lovely to his soul 



THE SUN AND THE MOON. 



27 



THE SUN AND THE MOON. 

From the council of the Eternal the crea- 
ting decree went forth : " Two lights shall 
shine in the firmament. They shall rule the 
earth, and decide revolving times and sea- 
sons." 

"He spoke, and it was." The sun arose 
the first of lights. As a bridegroom comes 
forth from his chamber, as a hero rejoices in 
his victorious career, the glorious luminary 
proceeded on its course, robed in the radiant 
splendors of the Creator. 

A chaplet of all colors flowed round his 
head : Earth rejoiced ; the herbs sent forth 
their fragrance ; the flowers expanded in 
beauty. 

The second light beheld the splendid sight, 
and its heart was filled with envy. It saw 
that its own splendor could not excel the 
effulgence of the orb of day. 

Repining and complaints broke from the 
orb of night : " Why do two monarchs occu- 
py one throne ? Why must I be the second, 
and not the first V 9 

And, suddenly, expelled by its inward dis- 
content, the splendid light of the moon van- 
ished. Far it spread in the empyrean, and 
became the numerous host of stars. 

Pale as death stood the moon, downcast 
and ashamed before the celestial hosts ; weep- 
ing she prayed, " Have mercy, Father of all 



28 THE SUN AND THE MOON. 

beings, have mercy on me !" And the angel 
of the Lord stood before the darkened lumi- 
nary, and announced the irrevocable decree ; 
" Because thou hast envied the splendor of 
the sun, thy radiance will henceforth be bor- 
rowed from his light; and, when yonder 
earth passes thee, thou wilt stand as now thou 
dost, deprived of thy light, and eclipsed either 
wholly or in part. But weep not, orb of the 
silent night. The All-merciful has pardoned 
thy repining and granted thy prayer ; 6 Go 
forth,' he commanded me, 6 console the peni- 
tent moon. She too shall be a queen in her 
radiance. The tears of her repentance shall 
be a reviving balm to all that languish, im- 
parting new force to all whom the noontide 
heat has exhausted. 

The moon was consoled, and behold, the 
pale radiance in which still she shines, 
flowed around her. She entered on her 
silent career, the queen of night, leader 
of the attendant stars. Weeping over her 
own fault, she commiserates the tears 
that are shed on earth : she sends forth 
her silvery rays to console those who 
mourn, to sympathize with those who suf 
fer. 

-Jfc ^ •¥? 

Daughters of beauty, beware of envy. 
Envy has driven angels from heaven ; it has 
quenched the splendor of the beauteous 
moon, the silent queen of the night. 



THE CHILD OF MERCY. 



29 



THE CHILD OF MERCY. 

" Let us make man," said the Creator, and 
myriads of angelic beings listened to his 
voice. " Do not create him," spoke the angel 
of justice ; " he will wrong his brethren, injure 
and oppress the weak, and cruelly ill-treat the 
feeble." " Do not create him," spoke the an- 
gel of peace. " He will manure the earth 
with human bk)od. The first-born of his race 
will be an assassin, and murder his own 
brother." 

" He will desecrate thy sanctuary with his 
lies," said the angel of truth ; " and though 
thou stampest on his countenance thine own 
image, the seal of truth, yet will falsehood 
and deceit prevail in his voice." " Create 
him not ; he will rebel against thee, and 
abuse the freedom which thou bestowest on 
him," exclaimed the chorus of assembled an- 
gels. 

Still they spoke, when Charity, the young- 
est and best beloved of the Eternal's creation, 
approached his throne, and knelt before him : 
" Create him, Father," she prayed, " in thine 
own image ; let him be the beloved of thy 
goodness. When all thy servants forsake 
him, I will seek and lovingly assist him : his 
very errors will I turn to his good. I will fill 
the heart of the weak with benevolence, and 
render him merciful towards those who are 
weaker than he. If he depart from peace 
8* 



30 



THE YOUTHFUL SOLOMON. 



and truth, if he offend justice and equity, I 
will still be with him, and the consequences 
of his own errors shall chasten his heart, and 
purify him in penitence and submission." 

The Universal Father listened to her voice, 
and created man a weak and erring being ; 
but, even in his errors, a pupil of the Divine 
goodness, a child of mercy, love, and charity, 
which never forsakes him, and still strives to 

amend him. 

# # # # # % # 

Remember thy origin, O man, when thou 
art cruel and unjust. Of all the Divine attri- 
butes, Charity alone stood forth to plead that 
existence be granted to thee. Mercy and 
love have fostered thee. Then remember — 
be just, be merciful. 



THE YOUTHFUL SOLOMON". 

A beneficent monarch once spoke to his 
favorite, and said, " Ask a boon of me, and it 
shall be granted to thee." 

And the youthful favorite said within him- 
self, " What shall I demand, that I may not 
hereafter repent of my request ? Honor and 
distinction I already possess ; gold and silver 
are the meanest, as they are the most faith- 
less, gifts of fortune ; these are not worthy of 
being demanded. No, I will pray that the 
king's daughter be granted to me; for she 
loves me as I love her, and in her I receive 



THE AGED SOLOMON. 



31 



perfect happiness. This request will also se- 
cure to me the affection of my illustrious 
benefactor, who thus becomes my father." 

And the favorite uttered his request, and it 
was granted. 

# # # # # # # 

When the Lord first appeared to the youth- 
ful Solomon, in a vision of the night, he said 
unto him, " Ask what I shall give thee." 

And behold, the youth prayed not for silver 
or gold, for honor, fame, or long life. His 
prayer was, " Grant me wisdom and with 
her, the daughter of the Most High, he re- 
ceived every felicity for which he could have 
prayed. 

To her he dedicated his most beautiful 
songs ; her he recommended to the sons of 
men as the only true source of happiness. 
As long as he continued faithful to her, he 
rejoiced in the blessing of God, in the love 
and admiration of men. And it is only through 
her that his fame survives, and has been pre- 
served from oblivion. 



THE AGED SOLOMON. 

Luxury, riches, and ambition perverted the 
ripened manhood of Solomon : he forgot wis- 
dom, the pride of his youth, and his heart be- 
came lost in the vortex of frivolous dissipa- 
tion and wicked folly. 

Once as he was walking in his splendid 



32 



THE AGED SOLOMON. 



gardens, he heard the conversations of the 
manifold creatures around him ; for he un- 
derstood the language of beast and of bird, 
of tree, stone, and shrub. He turned his ear 
and listened. 

44 Behold," said the lily, " there goes the 
king ; he passes me in his pride, while I, in 
my humility, am robed more splendidly than 
he." 

And the palm-tree waved its boughs, and 
said, " There goes the oppressor of his coun- 
try ; and yet his vile flatterers, in their fulsome 
songs, presume to compare him with me. But 
where are his boughs 1 Where the fruit 
with which he gladdens the hearts of men V 9 

He went on, and heard the nightingale 
sing to her beloved : 64 As we love each other, 
Solomon loveth not — O, not one of his sulta- 
nas holds him dear as I do thee, my dearest !" 

And the turtle-dove cooed to her mate : 
44 Not one of his thousand wives would grieve 
for his loss as I would for thine, mv only be- 
loved P 

The enraged monarch hastened his pace, 
and he came to the nest where the stork was 
teaching her young to launch forth on the ad- 
venturous flight. 44 What I do for you," said 
the stork to its brood, 44 King Solomon does 
not do for his son Rehoboam. He does not 
teach and exhort him ; therefore the young 
prince will not thrive. Strangers will lord 
over his father's domains." 



THE AGED SOLOMON. 



33 



The king withdrew to his secret closet. 
Musing, he sat there in silent grief. 

As he there sat, sunk in painful reflections, 
the bride of his youthful years, Wisdom, 
stood invisible before him, and touched his 
eyelids. He fell into a deep sleep and had a 
mournful vision. He saw the deputation of 
the tribes as they stood before his haughty 
son. He saw his empire divided through the 
silly answer of the foolish boy. He saw ten 
of the tribes he had oppressed rebel, and place 
a stranger on their throne. He saw his pal- 
aces in ruins ; his gardens rooted up ; the 
city destroyed; the temple of the Lord in 
ashes. Suddenly he awoke from his sleep, 
and terror seized on his tremulous mind. 
When lo ! once more the bride of his youth, 
the guardian of his early career, stood visibly 
before him. Tears flowed from her eyes. 
She spoke ; " Thou hast seen what will here- 
after happen. Thou alone art the first cause 
of all the calamities. But it is not in thy 
power to recall or to alter the past ; for thou 
canst not bid the river to flow back to its 
springs, nor the years of thy youth to return. 
Thy soul is wearied ; thy heart is exhausted ; 
and I, the forsaken of thy youth, can no more 
be thy companion in the land of terrestrial life." 

With pity in her looks she vanished ; and 
Solomon, who had crowned his youthful days 
with roses, wrote, in his old age, a book on 
the vanity of all human affairs on earth. 



34 AFFECTION FOIi INANIMATE OBJECTS. 



AFFECTION EXTENDED TO INANIMATE OBJECTS. 

A beautiful tree grew in an open space? 
opposite to the parlor windows of Euphro- 
nius's house in Manchester. It was an ob- 
ject which his family often contemplated 
with pleasure. The verdant foliage with 
which it was covered, gave an early indica- 
tion of spring ; its spreading branches fur- 
nished an agreeable shade, and tempered the 
heat of the noontide sun ; and the falling 
leaves, in autumn, marked the varying sea- 
sons, and warned them of the approach of 
winter. One luckless morning, the axe was 
laid to the root of this admired tree ; and it 
fell a lamented victim to the rage for build- 
ing, which depopulates the country, and mul- 
tiplies misery, diseases, and death, by the en- 
largement of great towns. 

You now feel, said Euphronius to Alexis, 
on this occasion, the force of that good-natur- 
ed remark of Mr. Addison, in one of the Spec- 
tators, that he should not care to have an old 
stump palled up which he had remembered 
ever since he was a child. The affections of 
a generous heart are extended, by the early 
association of ideas, to almost every sur- 
rounding object. Hence the delight which 
we receive from revisiting scenes in which 
we passed our youth ; the school where our 
first friendships were formed ; or the aca- 



LIFE IS A FLOWER. 



35 



demic groves in which fair science unveiled 
herself to our enraptured view. 

Suetonius relates, that the Roman empe- 
ror, Vespasian, went constantly every year 
to pass the summer in a small country house, 
near Ricti, where he was born, and to which 
he would never add any embellishment : and 
that Titus, his successor, was carried thither, 
in his last illness, to die in the place where 
his father had begun and ended his days. 

The emperor Pertinax, says Capitolinus, 
during the time of his abode in Liguria, 
lodged in his father's house ; and raising a 
great number of magnificent buildings around 
it, he left the cottage in the midst, a striking 
monument of his delicacy of sentiment and 
greatness of soul. 



LIFE IS A FLOWER. 

" The blossoms are fallen, and the beds of 
flowers are swept away by the scythe of the 
mower." This is a scene to which we are 
accustomed at the summer season of the year : 
we see the grass fall by the mower's scythe, 
and the gay flowers that adorned the meadows 
swept away unregarded. 

The green, the yellow, the crimson, the suc- 
culent, fall undistinguished before the fatal 
instrument that cuts them off. They are 
scattered on the ground, and withered by the 
intense heat of the day. 



36 



SKEPTICIS3I CONDEMNED. 



The blooming flower which stands the pride 
of the verdant field, glowing in beautiful col- 
ors, and shining with the dawn of the morn- 
ing, ere the sun gains its meridian height, falls 
a sacrifice to the severing steel, and fades in 
the scorching rays of noon. 

Thus it is with human life ; the thread is 
cut, and man falls into the silent tomb. No- 
thing can ward off the fatal stroke : the aged 
and infirm, the blooming youth in strength 
and vigor, and the weak and helpless infant, 
are without distinction swept away by the 
scythe of Death, the great destroyer. 

The active youth, who in the morning rises 
with health and vivacity, may at noon lie pale 
and motionless at the feet of this great vic- 
tor ; and at the setting of the morrow's sun ? 
be consigned to the dark and lonesome man- 
sion of the dead. 

Cities and nations are subject to the same 
fate. How soon is a flourishing town depopu- 
lated by a pestilential disease ! How soon 
is a nation cut off by the raging of a direful 
war ! 



SKEPTICISM CONDEMNED. 

Sophron asserted that he could hear the 
slightest scratch of a pin, at the distance of ten 
yards. It is impossible, said Alexis, and im- 
mediately appealed to Euphronius, who was 
walking with them. Though I do not believe, 



SKEPTICISM CONDEMNED. 



37 



replied Euphronius, that Sophron's ears are 
more acute than yours, yet I disapprove of 
your hasty decision concerning the impossi- 
bility of what you so little understand. You 
are ignorant of the nature of sound, and of the 
various means by which it may be increased 
or quickened in its progress, and modesty 
should lead you, in such a case, to suspend 
your judgment till you have made the proper 
and necessary inquiries. 

An opportunity now presents itself which 
will afford Sophron the satisfaction he desires. 
Place your ear at one end of this long rafter 
of deal timber, and I will scratch the other 
end with a pin. 

Alexis obeyed, and distinctly heard the 
sound, which, being conveyed through the 
tubes of the wood, was augmented in loud- 
ness, as in a speaking trumpet, or the horn of 
the huntsman. Skepticism and credulity are 
equally unfavorable to the acquisition of 
knowledge. The latter anticipates, and the 
former precludes all inquiry. 

One leaves the mind satisfied with error 
the other with ignorance : and both magnify 
trifles into confirmation strong as the most 
sacred proofs. The fastidiousness of skepti- 
cism, by an instantaneous decision, rejects 
truth if combined with adventitious falsehood. 
The blindness of credulity adopts falsehood 
even as a sanction of truth. 

4 



38 



CLEANLINESS. 



A VIEW OF THE STARRY HEAVENS. 

Here I enjoy a free view of the whole hemi- 
sphere, without any obstacle from below to 
confine the exploring eye ; or any cloud from 
above, to overcast the spacious concave. 

It is true, the lively vermilion which so 
lately streaked the chambers of the west is 
all faded. But the planets, one after another, 
light up their lamps ; the stars advance in 
their glittering train. 

Thousands of luminaries shine forth in suc- 
cessive splendor ; and the whole firmament 
is kindled into the most beautiful glow. 

The blueness of the ether, heightened by 
the season of the year, and still more enliven- 
ed by the absence of the moon, gives those 
gems of heaven the brightest lustre. 



CLEANLINESS. 

Cleanliness may be recommended under 
the three following heads : as it is a mark of 
politeness ; as it produces affection ; and as 
it bears analogy to purity of mind. 

In the first place, it is a mark of politeness : 
for it is universally agreed upon, that no one 
unadorned with this virtue can go into com- 
pany without giving a manifest offence. The 
different nations of the world are as much 
distinguished by their cleanliness, as by their 



CLEANLINESS. 



39 



arts and sciences. The more advanced in 
civilization, the more they consult this part 
of politeness. 

In the second place, cleanliness may be 
considered the foster-mother of affection. — 
Beauty commonly produces love, but cleanli- 
ness preserves it. Age is not unamiable while 
it is preserved clean and unsullied : like a 
piece of metal constantly kept smooth and 
bright, we look on it with more pleasure than 
on a new vessel that is cankered with rust. 

As cleanliness renders us agreeable to oth- 
ers, so it makes us easy to ourselves ; it is an 
excellent preservative of health ; and several 
vices, destructive both to mind and body, are 
inconsistent with the habit of it. 

In the third place, it bears great analogy 
with purity of mind, and naturally inspires 
refined sentiments and passions. We find 
from experience, that through the prevalence 
of custom, the most vicious actions lose their 
horror by being made familiar to us. 

On the contrary, those who live in the neigh- 
borhood of good examples, fly from the first 
appearance of what is shocking ; and thus 
pure and unsullied thoughts are naturally 
suggested to the mind by those objects that 
perpetually encompass us. 

In the east, where the warmth of the cli- 
mate makes cleanliness more immediately 
necessary than in colder countries, it is con- 
sidered as a part of religion : the Jewish law, 



40 



BRIDLING THE TONGUE. 



(as well as the Mahometan, which in some 
things copies after.) enjoins frequent bathings, 
and other rites of the like nature : and we 
read several injunctions of this kind in the 
book of Deuteronomy, 



SELF-GOVERNMENT. 

Eurybiades, the Lacedaemonian, generalis- 
simo of the Greek forces employed against the 
Persians, was enraged that Themistocles, a 
young man, and the chief of the Athenians, 
should presume to oppose his opinion, and 
lifted up his cane to strike him. Themistocles, 
without emotion, cried out, " Strike and wel- 
come, if you will but hear me P Eurybiades, 
surprised at his calmness and presence of 
mind, listened to his advice, and obtained that 
famous victory in the Straits of Salamis, which 
saved Greece, and conferred immortal glory 
on Themistocles. 



ON BRIDLING THE TONGUE, 
" The tongue can no man tame." 

If this had not been the language of inspi- 
ration, experience has proved it to be the lan- 
guage of truth. The tongue is the most un- 
tameable thing in nature. All kinds of beasts, 
birds, and serpents, have been tamed by man- 
kind ; but not so with the tongue. Who, 



BRIDLING THE TONGUE. 



41 



among the sons of men, ever yet tamed his 
own tongue ? Not one. 

A person can bridle his tongue, or hold it : 
but no sooner does he take off the bridle, or 
let go his hold, than this little member runs 
wild, and out slips something from it, in the 
moment of passion or levity, which the speak- 
er presently wishes back. 

Mark Anthony, it has been said, tamed lions, 
and drove them harnessed to his chariot 
through the streets of Rome. Had he tamed 
his own tongue, it would have been a great- 
er wonder still. The rattle-snake has been 
tamed, and even the crocodile ; but the tongue 
never. 

Pythagoras imposed on his pupils constant 
silence, for months and years together. But 
what did it all signify 1 No sooner were they 
permitted to talk, than they gabbled a deal 
of impertinence. Besides, to withhold the 
tongue from speaking at all, is destroying its 
end and use, rather than taming it. 

The gift of speech is two precious to be 
thrown away. Let the tongue be accustomed 
to speak, and to speak as it ought. " A word 
spoken in due season, how good it is !" Un- 
ruly tongues, on the contrary, produce a world 
of iniquity. Some are full of deadly poison : 
such are they that curse men and blaspheme 
God, and which utter lies for mischief or sport. 

Such, too, is the deceitful tongue, " whose 

words are smoother than oil ; yet are they 
4 # 



42 



BRIDLING THE TONGUE. 



drawn swords." There is the sly, whispering 
tongue, and the babbling, tattling tongue; 
each of which "separateth very friends." 
The words of a talebearer are as wounds ; 
he wounds others thereby, and himself too ; for 
the mouth of such a fool is his destruction. 

An impertinent, meddling tongue makes 
bad worse ; even when employed in offices of 
friendship. When Job was smitten from head 
to foot, the busy tongues of his wife and friends 
were a sorer plague to him than all his biles. 
And thus it often happens that a person under 
misfortunes suffers as well from the busy 
meddling tongues of friends, as from the ma- 
licious tongues of enemies. 

There are fiery tongues. " The tongue is 
a fire." Such is the tongue of the passionate 
man or woman, whose mouth, foaming with 
rage, casteth abroad words which are as 
"firebrands, arrows and death." Such also 
is the tongue of the slanderer and backbiter, 
which puts whole neighborhoods and commu- 
nities in a flame, and " setteth on fire the 
course of nature." How many a pretty mouth 
has been disfigured and made hideous by the 
fiery tongue in it ! 

What, then, is to be done with this unruly 
little member, which "boasteth great things," 
and occasioneth infinite mischief in the world? 
Since no man or woman can quite tame it, 
how is the best way to manage it ? 

First, correct the heart, and keep that with 



GRATITUDE AND PIETY. 



43 



all diligence. The foolishness of the lips is 
first uttered in the heart: "For out of the 
abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh." 
Next, carefully bridle the tongue ; keep the 
bit upon it at all times ; especially in the mo- 
ment of sudden anger, and in the hour of joy 
and conviviality. 

Self-command, as respects the tongue, is as 
necessary. as it is difficult. For we are told 
from divine authority, " If any man offend not 
in word, the same is a perfect man, and able 
also to bridle the whole body." 

As it is of the utmost importance that we 
rule our own tongues, so, on the other hand, 
it is of no small importance that we be guard- 
ed against the unruly tongues of others. And 
here I will suggest one caution, and commend 
it to the particular remembrance of the young 
and inexperienced. 

Beware of close intimacy with those whose 
tongues are calumnious toward almost every 
one except their present company, to which 
they are ever smooth and fair. For he that 
commonly indulges himself in calumniating 
or ridiculing the absent, plainly shows his 
company what they have to expect from him 
after he leaves them. 



GRATITUDE AND PIETY. 

Artabanes was distinguished with peculiar 
favor by a wise, powerful, and good prince. 



44 



GRATITUDE AND PIETY. 



A magnificent palace, surrounded with a de- 
lightful garden, was provided for his residence. 
He partook of all the luxuries of his sover- 
eign's table, was invested with extensive 
authority, and admitted to the honor of a free 
intercourse with his gracious master. But 
Artabanes was insensible of the advantages 
which he enjoyed ; his heart glowed not with 
gratitude and respect ; he avoided. the society 
of his benefactor, and abused his bounty. I 
detest such a character, said Alexis, with 
generous indignation ! It is your owtl picture 
which I have drawn, replied Euphronius. 

The great Potentate of heaven and earth 
has placed you in a world which displays the 
highest beauty, order, and magnificence ; and 
which abounds with every means of conve- 
nience, enjoyment, and happiness. He has 
furnished you with such powers of body and 
mind, as give you dominion over the fishes of 
the sea, the fowls of the air, and the beasts of 
the field : and he has invited you to hold com- 
munion with him, and to exalt your own na- 
ture by the love and imitation of his divine per- 
fections. Yet have your eyes wandered, with 
brutal gaze, over the fair creation, and con- 
scious of the mighty hand from which it 
sprung. You have rioted in the profusion of 
nature, without one secret emotion of grati- 
tude to the sovereign dispenser of all good : 
and you have slighted the glorious converse 
and forgotten the presence of that omnipotent 



ENVY AND DISCONTENT. 45 

Being who fills all space and exists through 
all eternity. 



ENVY AND DISCONTENT. 

Ever charming, ever new, 

When will the landscape tire the view ? 

The fountain's fall, the river's flow ; 

The woody valleys warm and low ; 

The windy summit wild and high, 

Roughly rushing on the sky ; 

The pleasant seat, the ruined tower, 

The naked rock, the shady bower ; 

The town and village, dome and farm, 

Each gives each a double charm.* 

Alexis was repeating these lines to Eupiiro- 
nius, who was reclined upon a seat in one of 
his fields at Hart-Hill, enjoying the real beau- 
ties of nature which the poet describes. The 
evening was serene, and the landscape ap- 
peared in all the gay attire of light and shade. 
A man of lively imagination, said Euphronius, 
has a property in every thing which he sees ; 
and you may now conceive yourself to be lord 
of the vast expanse around us, and exult in 
the happiness of myriads of living creatures, 
who inhabit the woods, the lawns, and the 
mountains which present themselves to our 
view. The house, garden, and pleasure- 
grounds of Eugenio formed a part of the pros- 
pect ; and Alexis expressed a jocular wish, 



* Grongar Hill, by Mr. Dyer. 



46 FALSE NOTIONS OF PROVIDENCE. 

that he had more than an imaginary property 
in those possessions. 

Banish the ungenerous desire, said Euphro- 
nius ; for if you indulge such emotions as 
these, your heart will soon become a prey to 
envy and discontent. Enjoy, with gratitude, 
the blessings which you have received from 
the liberal hand of Providence ; increase them | 
if you can with honor and credit, by a diligent 
attention to the duties of that respectable pro- 
fession for which you are designed ; and though 
your own cup may not be filled, rejoice that 
your neighbor's overflows with plenty. Honor 
the abilities, and emulate the virtues of Eu- 
genic ; but repine not that he is wiser, richer, 
or more powerful than yourself. His fortune 
is expended in acts of humanity, generosity, 
and hospitality : his superior talents are ap- 
plied to the instruction of his children, to the 
assistance of his friends, to the encouragement 
of agriculture and of every useful art, and to 
mankind. And his power is exerted to pun- 
ish the guilty, to protect the innocent, to re- 
ward the good, and to distribute justice with 
an equal hand to all. I feel the affection of 
a brother for Eugenio, and esteem myself sin- 
gularly happy in his friendship. 



FALSE NOTIONS OF PROVIDENCE. 

" How providential is the rain !" cried the 
exulting farmer, who had gathered into his 



CRUELTY IN EXPERIMENTS. 



47 



barns a large crop of hay, whilst his neigh- 
bors were yet in the midst of that harvest. 
"The change of weather will soon fill my 
meadows with grass ; and my cattle may now 
riot in the plenty of autumnal and winter 
food, which Heaven, with peculiar indulgence, 
has provided for them." 

Similar to this is the language of the self- 
ish and contracted mind, on every prosperous 
incident of life. The partial interposition of 
sovereign wisdom and power is presumed, 
without hesitation ; and we have the folly 
and vanity to believe that the order of nature 
is disturbed, for our own individual benefit, 
even on the slightest occasion. Whatever 
foundation there may be, in reason or scrip- 
ture, for the doctrine of a particular provi- 
dence, the common application of it is equally 
absurd and irreligious. It argues pride and 
arrogance in man ; and disparages the moral 
character of the great Parent of the universe. 



CRUELTY IN EXPERIMENTS. 

Euphronius was happy whenever the en- 
gagements of his profession, and his duty as 
a parent, allowed him a leisure hour to devote 
to experimental philosophy. He had been 
long pursuing a most interesting train of in- 
quiries into the nature and properties of vari- 
ous kinds of air, in concert with his learned 
friend Dr. Priestley, and he had just prepared, 



48 



CRUELTY IN EXPERIMENTS. 



for a particular purpose, some mephitic water,* 
which was standing by him in a glass vessel, 
when Alexis came hastily into his study with 
a number of small fishes that he had caught 
and preserved alive. The youth knew the 
fatality of fixed air to animals which breathe ; 
but he wished to see its effects on the inhabit- 
ants of a different element : and Euphronius, 
to gratify his impatient curiosity, put the fishes 
into the mephitic water ; through which they 
darted with amazing velocity, and then drop- 
ped down lifeless to the bottom of the vessel. 

Surprise and joy sparkled in the eyes of 
Alexis. 

Beware, my son ! said Euphronius, of ob- 
serving spectacles of pain and misery with 
delight. Cruelty, by insensible degrees, will 
steal into your heart; and every generous 
principle of your nature will then be subvert- 
ed. The philosopher, who has in contempla- 
tion the establishment of some important truth, 
or the discovery of what will tend to the ad- 
vancement of real science, and to the good 
and happiness of mankind, may perhaps be 
justified, if he sacrifice to his pursuits the life 
or enjoyment of an inferior animal. But the 
emotions of humanity should never be stifled 
in his breast ; his trials should be made with 
tenderness, repeated with reluctance, and car- 
ried no further than the object in view una- 

* Water impregnated with fixed air, which is separated from 
chalk or potash by means of oil of vitriol, or any other acid. 



SLANDER. 



49 



voidably requires. Wanton experiments on 
living creatures, and even those which are 
merely subservient to the gratification of cu- 
riosity, merit the severest censure. They de- 
grade the man of letters into a brute ; and 
are fit amusements only for the cannibals of 
New Zealand. I condemn myself for the in- 
dulgence which I just now showed you. But 
I knew that your fishes would endure less 
pain from an instantaneous, than from the 
lingering death which awaited them ; and I 
little expected that your compassionate and 
amiable heart could have received a pleasu- 
rable impression on such an occasion. 



SLANDER. 

Euphronius heard with indignation the cha- 
racter of a much respected friend traduced. 
But he calmed the painful emotions of his 
mind, by the recollection of Mr. Pope's obser- 
vation, that 

" Envy does Merit, as its shade pursue ; 

And, like the shadow, proves the substance true." 

To flatter ourselves with universal ap- 
plause, is an inconsistency in our expecta- 
tions, dictated by folly, and fostered by self- 
love. Numbers of mankind are influenced 
by a levelling principle, which cannot brook 
superior excellence ; and they wage secret 
war with whatever rises above their own 
5 



50 



SLANDER. 



mediocrity, as a kind of moral or intellectual 
usurpation. When Aristides, so remarkable 
for his inviolable attachment to justice, was 
tried by Ostracism,* at Athens, and condemn- 
ed to banishment, a peasant, who could not 
write, and who was unacquainted with his per- 
son, applied to him to put the name of Aris- 
tides upon his shell. 4 Has he done you any 
wrong,' said Aristides, ' that you are for pun- 
ishing him in this manner V 6 No,' replied the 
countryman, 6 1 don't even know him ; but I 
am tired and angry with hearing every one 
call him the Just.' Aristides, without further 
expostulation, calmly took the shell, wrote 
upon it his own condemnation, and returned 
it to the peasant. 

But independent of the pride and envy of 
mankind, there are few public virtues which, 
from their own nature, can be exercised with- 
out giving umbrage. The upright magistrate, 
who hears with impartiality, and decides with 
wisdom and equity, creates an enemy in the 
oppressor, when he redresses the wrongs of 
the oppressed. 

The benevolent citizen, who pursues with 
zeal and steadiness the good of the commu- 
nity, must sacrifice to the important objects 
which he has in view, the interfering interests 
of many individuals, who will indulge aloud 

* A form of trial in which the people of Athens voted a 
person's banishment, by writing his name on a shell, which 
was cast into an urn. 



SLANDER. 



51 



their complaints, and pour upon him a torrent 
of abuse. And the liberal man, whose hand 
is ever stretched forth to relieve sickness, 
poverty, and distress ; and who diffuses hap- 
piness around him by his generosity, hospi- 
tality, and charity, is calumniated by the 
worthless, who partake not of his bounty ; 
and censured by his beneficiaries, because his 
kindness falls short of their unreasonable ex- 
pectations. Louis the Fourteenth used to say 
that whenever he bestowed a vacant employ- 
ment, he made a hundred persons discontented, 
and one ungrateful. 

The love of liberty, civil and religious, is 
odious to the tyrant, the bigot, and passive 
slave. Reproof, however delicate, seasona- 
ble, and affectionate, too often creates aver- 
sion to the friend who administers it. Coun- 
sel, if it contradicts our dazzling passions, 
though wise and prudent, will produce ill- 
will. Courage excites fear and hatred in the 
coward. Industry bears away the palm of 
success from the slothful. And learning, 
judgment, and skill afford advantages which 
irritate, because they humiliate the stupid 
and the ignorant. The immortal Harvey, 
in one of his letters to a friend, complains 
that he had hurt his interest as a phy- 
sician, by the discovery of the circulation 
of the blood ; a discovery which does honor 
to physic, to philosophy, and to human na- 
ture, because it was the result, not of acci- 



52 



SLANDER. 



dent, but of solid reasoning and patient in- 
quiry. 

It is evident, therefore, that in the present 
constitution of things, envy and detraction are 
the price which must be paid for pre-eminence 
in virtue. The vulgar phrase of approbation, 
which we so frequently hear applied to the in- 
dividuals of this class, that they are enemies 
to no one but themselves, conveys the severest 
satire ; because it implies that they are either 
insignificant drones, artful hypocrites, or the 
infamous panders of pleasure. Tully describes 
Cataline himself as popular, by servilely ac- 
commodating himself to the humors and vices 
of all with whom he conversed. 

Are we then to regard fame as unattaina- 
ble, or as unworthy of a wise man's pursuits ? 
Certainly not. Such a conviction would sup- 
press a noble and powerful incitement to vir- 
tue, and destroy one of the most exquisite 
enjoyments of human life. For the pleasure 
from the applauses of the judicious and the 
good is next, in degree, to the inward delight 
which flows from the consciousness of having 
deserved them. And he who governs by rea- 
son this animating principle of action ; who 
uniformly aims at moral rectitude in his con- 
duct ; who suffers no popular praise or vulgar 
opinion to elate or to mislead him ; and who 
is undepressed by the censures of interested 
or incompetent judges ; will command the 
esteem and love of those whose suffrages 



REAPING. 



53 



*J-*fte are fame ; will be honored and revered 
oy posterity ; and will obtain the favor of God 
himself, the omniscient observer and sovereign 
rewarder of merit. 



ON READING. 

Reading may be considered as the key 
which commands our entrance, and gives us 
access to the various departments of science 
and literature. It enlarges the sphere of ob- 
servation, and affords abundant materials for 
exercising the faculties of the mind. 

Among all people distinguished for their 
refinement and civilization, the most preva- 
lent and important art is that of reading. 
The improvement of the mind, the cultivation 
of taste, and the acquisition of knowledge, are 
the advantages derived from this art. 

From reading we are made acquainted with 
the passing events and occurrences in various 
parts of the world, and are enabled to repeat 
the sentiments of those who have existed in 
former times. 

It brings to view the scenes of departed 
years, and exhibits the rise and fall, and 
the revolutions of the ancient communities of 
mankind ; and offers to our reflection all the 
most important circumstances connected with 
the improvement of human society. 

To have good books, and to be able to read 
them well, is a great privilege. They make 
5* 



54 



READING. 



us both wiser and better : they instruct us in 
our duty, and teach us how to behave our- 
selves. They comfort us in our distresses and 
afflictions. 

They pass away our leisure hours pleasant- 
ly and usefully ; and the amusement which 
they afford, is cheaper than almost any other. 
They are true friends, excellent counsellors, ! 
and agreeable companions. 

Be careful to read with attention. When 
you are reading, do not be thinking of any 
thing else. People who read without think- 
ing what they are reading about, lose their 
time : and they cannot be the wiser, or the 
better, for what they read. 

Reflect upon what you have read, or heard 
other people read ; and if you have a proper 
opportunity, converse upon it. To relate what 
you have read, or heard, is the best way to 
help you to remember it. 

It may afford many useful and pleasant 
subjects of conversation ; and it may often 
prevent quarrelling, telling idle tales, silly 
joking, and talking scandal. In order to re- 
member any particular passages in a book, 
read them over several times. 

If it instructed you in any particular duty, 
consider whether you have done your best to 
practise it. A little in this way is more im- 
proving than many volumes, however excel- i 
lent in themselves, read over in a hasty care- 
less manner. 



MANKIND DEPENDENT ON EACH OTHER. 55 

Let nothing tempt you to read a bad book 
of any kind. It is better not to read at all, 
than to read bad books. A bad book, it is 
truly said, is the worst of thieves ; it robs us 
of time, money, and principles. 



MANKIND ARE DEPENDENT ON EACH OTHER. 

O child of humanity ! thou owest thy con- 
venience, thy security, thy enjoyment of the 
comforts and pleasures of life, to the assistance 
of others. Rejoice, then, in the happiness and 
prosperity of thy neighbor. 

Open not thy ear to slander ; the faults and 
the failings of men give pain to a benevolent 
heart. Desire to do good, and search out oc- 
casions for it : in removing the oppression of 
another, the virtuous mind relieves itself. 

Shut not thine ear against the cries of the 
poor, nor harden thy heart against the calami- 
ties of the innocent. When the fatherless call 
upon thee, when the widow's heart is sunk, 
and she implores thy assistance with tears of 
sorrow ; pity their affliction, and extend thy 
hand to those who have none to help them. 

When thou seest the naked wanderer in the 
street, shivering with cold, and destitute of 
habitation, let bounty open thy heart, let the 
wings of charity shelter him from death, that 
thy own soul may live. 

Whilst the poor man groans on the bed of 
sickness ; whilst the unfortunate languish in 



56 



THE TWO ROSES. 



the horrors of a dungeon ; or the hoary head 
of age lifts up a feeble eye to thee for pity ; 
how canst thou riot in superfluous enjoyments, 
regardless of their wants, unfeeling of their 
woes ? 



THE TWO ROSES. 

On the borders of a pond, situated in a beau- 
tiful flower-garden, two roses grew side by 
side. They were both lovely, but not equally 
modest. One of them never thought of her 
beauty and attractions, but the other one 
thought of little else, and constantly admired 
her fair face, as it was reflected in the clear 
bosom of the pond. 

" My dear friend," said the modest rose to 
her one day, " how can you be vain of what 
is so transient ? The beauty of which you 
are so proud, you may be deprived of in an 
hour : some fair hand may pluck you from the 
stem, to aid in adorning her bouquet ; # or a 
strong wind may come and scatter your pink 
leaves on the gravel walk ; or even a worm 
may feast upon them, and deface them." 

" I do not fear any of these threatened evils." 
said the other rose : " if I am plucked, I shall 
still be lovely and admired ; and as for the 
wind or the worm, they would not have the 
presumption to approach me." As the silly 

* Bouquet, a nosegay ; pronounced, bookay. 



THE FOX AND SPANIEL. 



57 



flower thus spoke, a strong east wind suddenly 
rose, and, stripping off its leaves, sent them 
whirling over the bosom of the pond. 

This story may show young people the folly 
of admiring themselves, and of being vain of 
that which sickness or death may destroy in 
an hour. Let them rather wish to make their 
minds lovely ; for these are imperishable, and 
may flourish forever. 

THE FOX AND SPANIEL. 

A fox and spaniel met each other frequently, 
till, at last, they became acquainted, and were 
so fond of each other's society that they were 
seldom separated. The spaniel followed the 
fox in all his rambles, and was the witness of 
all his depredations. Sometimes the fox went 
into the hen-roost, and stole a hen or chicken ; 
sometimes he stole a lamb from the hill-side ; 
and sometimes he ran off* with a pig that 
was astray in the woods. On all these occa- 
sions he was attended by his playmate, the 
spaniel. 

One day the fox entered a fine barn-yard, 
where there was a great deal of poultry of 
all kinds, (hens, turkeys, geese, and ducks,) — 
attended, as usual, by his companion, the span- 
iel. Prowling along carefully, so that he 
might not be seen, the fox slyly drew near a 
fine fat goose, which he intended for his dinner. 

Just as he had seized the poor bird, and was 



58 



LOVE TO OUR NEIGHBOR. 



bearing him off, the poultry set up so loud a 
cackling as to call the attention of the farmer, 
who was at work in a field close by. Seeing 
the mischief, he seized a loaded gun and fired 
at the fox and dog, just as they were leaving 
the yard. 

The shot wounded both the animals, and 
they instantly fell. The farmer came up. and, 
seizing the fox, knocked him on the head, 
saying, " Rogue and thief that thou art ! this 
is the last goose of mine which thou shalt 
steal, and I know well that it is not the first 
meal you have made from my poultry-yard." 

Then, turning to the dog, he said, " And 
you, too, shall die." " 0, dear sir," said the 
poor spaniel, " do not kill me. I do not de- 
serve to die. I never stole a goose in my life." 
" How can I believe what you say V said the 
farmer. "I find you in company with the 
fox, and therefore you must suffer with him." 
So saying, he killed him without more words. 

If children do not wish to be thought wicked 
and bad, they should not keep company with 
others who are so ; for, if they do not become 
as bad as the latter, they will suffer disgrace 
by being found in their company. 



LOVE TO OUR NEIGHBOR. 

"Do you think," said Clara, pertly, "that 
there ever was an instance of any one loving 
another as well as himself?" 



LOVE TO OUR NEIGHBOR. 



59 



" Many," said Mrs. Mills. " History abounds 
with examples that demonstrate the existence 
of such a virtue. If you are at all acquainted 
with history, you cannot forget the friendship 
of Damon and Pythias, nor the noble conduct 
of Leonidas, and many heroes of antiquity, 
who devoted themselves to death for the ser- 
vice of their country." 

Clara, ashamed to confess that she was to- 
tally unacquainted with history, was silent ; 
but William, who was better informed, ac- 
knowledged that those heroes might truly be 
said to love others as well, nay, better than 
themselves ; but, he added, it is a long time 
since they lived. 

" It is not on that account," said Mrs. Mills, 
" the less true that they did exist, and that the 
events recorded happened ; but I could bring 
many examples from modern history to prove 
that it is possible to love our neighbors as 
ourselves ; nay, I can cite one which happened 
within these last fifty years from a people 
whom we hold to be uncivilized. Did you 
ever hear of the Cataract of Niagara V 9 

" Never," replied Clara. 

" Nor you, William ?" 

" Never."* 

" Well, then," said Mrs. Mills, " imagine to 
yourself an immense river, increased by a 
number of lakes, or rather seas, falling per- 



* The speakers, here, lived in England. 



60 



LOVE TO OUR NEIGHBOR. 



pendicularly from a rock one hundred and 
thirty-seven feet high, and yon will form an 
idea of the Cataract of Niagara." 

" I think," said William, " that I recollect 
Mr. Smyth, our geographical master, describ- 
ing it : is it not in Canada, a province of 
North America?" 

" It is," said Mrs. Mills, " and is esteemed 
one of the greatest curiosities in the world ; 
for two leagues above the great fall, the river 
is interrupted by a variety of less ones, and 
runs with such rapidity that the largest canoe 
would be overturned in an instant. Higher 
up the river is navigable, as you will find by 
the story I am going to relate." 

" Two Indians went out one day in their 
canoe, at a sufficient distance from the cata- 
ract to be, as they imagined, out of danger ; 
but having drunk too frequently of some bran- 
dy which they unfortunately had with them, 
the fumes of it created a drowsiness, and they 
were so imprudent as to stretch themselves 
at the bottom of the canoe, where they fell 
asleep. 

The canoe, in the mean time, which they 
had been towing against the stream, drove 
back further and further, and would, in a very 
short time, have precipitated them down the 
fall, had not the noise of it, which is heard at 
the distance of six, and, at certain times, fif- 
teen leagues, awakened them. Figure to 
yourselves, my dear children, what must have 



LOVE TO OUR NEIGHBOR. 



61 



been the feelings of the poor creatures at this 
moment, and how dearly they repented the 
intemperance which had hurried them into 
such danger. They exclaimed, in an agony 
not to be expressed, that they were lost ; but 
exerted their strength to work the canoe 
towards an island which lies at the brink of 
the fall. Upon this, exhausted with labor and 
fatigue, they at last landed ; but, on reflection, 
they were sensible that unless they could find 
means to escape from this island, they had 
only exchanged one kind of death for another, 
since they must unavoidably perish with hun- 
ger. The situation of the island, however, 
gave them some hopes ; the lower end of it 
touches the edge of the precipice whence the 
water falls, and divides the cataract into two 
parts ; a space is consequently left between, 
where no water falls, and the rock is seen 
naked. Necessity supplied them with inven- 
tion ; they formed a ladder of the bark of the 
linden tree, and fastening one end of it to a 
tree that grew at the edge of the precipice, 
descended by it to the water below, into 
which they threw themselves, thinking, as it 
was not rapid in this part, to swim to shore." 

" Had it been my case," said Clara, " I 
should rather have died of hunger in the 
island, than have attempted my escape that 
way." 

"The Indians," said Mrs. Mills, "acted 
more wisely ; while hope remains, it is our 
6 



62 



LOVE TO OUR NEIGHBOR. 



duty to exert our efforts to avert the misfor- 
tune that threatens us ; when unavoidable, it 
is the highest wisdom to bear it with fortitude 
and resignation." 

" And did they reach the shore, aunt ?" said 
William. 

" No," replied Mrs. Mills. " The waters 
of the two cataracts, (for you know I told you 
that one part of the fall was on one side of 
the island, and the other on the other,) meet- 
ing, formed an eddy which, when they began 
to swim, threw them back with violence 
against the rock. They made repeated trials, 
but with the same ill success : until, at length, 
worn out with fatigue, their bodies much 
bruised, and the skin in many parts torn off, 
from the violence with which they were con- 
stantly thrown against the rock, they were 
forced to climb up the ladder again, into the 
island, from which they now thought noth- 
ing but death could deliver them. 

" Their hopes once more revived when they 
perceived some Indians on the opposite shore. 
By signs and cries they at last drew their at- 
tention ; but such was the perilous situation 
of the island, that though these saw and pitied 
them, they gave them small hopes of assist- 
ance. The governor of the fort, however, 
being acquainted with their situation, hu- 
manely conceived a project for their deliver- 
ance. He reflected that the water on the 
eastern side of the island, notwithstanding its 



LOVE TO OUR NEIGHBOR. 



63 



rapidity, is shallow, and thought that by the 
help of long poles pointed with iron, it might 
be possible to walk to the island. The diffi 
culty was, to find a person endued with suffi- 
cient courage and generosity to attempt their 
rescue at the hazard of his own life." 

" Indeed," said Clara, " if their deliverance 
depended upon that, I should think that small 
hope remained." 

"It was nevertheless effected," said Mrs. 
Mills. " Two generous Indians undertook to 
execute the governor's project, resolving to 
deliver their poor brethren, or to perish in the 
attempt." 

" Is it possible ?" said William ; " what no- 
ble souls !" 

" Yes," said Mrs. Mills ; " they prepared 
for their perilous expedition, and took leave 
of all their friends, as if they had been going 
to death. Each was furnished with two poles 
pointed with iron, which they set to the bot- 
tom of the stream, to keep them steady and 
support them against the current, which must 
otherwise have carried them along with it. 
In this manner they proceeded, and actually 
arrived at the island, where, delivering two 
of the poles to the poor Indians, who had now 
been nine days upon the island, and were 
almost starved to death, they all four returned 
safe to the shore." 

" What a providential escape !" said Wil- 
liam; "how rejoiced the poor fellows must 



64 



LOVE TO OUR NEIGHBOR. 



have been to receive the poles that were to 
assist them in getting away !" 

" Their joy," said Mrs. Mills, " on the pros- 
pect of their deliverance, must certainly have 
been great, but, I will venture to affirm, it did 
not exceed that of the generous Indians, who 
hazarded their lives to effect it." 

" It certainly could not," said William, " but 
what a risk they ran !" 

64 True," said Mrs. Mills, " but on the other 
hand, what a gratification ! do you think 
there could be a pleasure equal to that felt by 
the generous Indians when they effected the 
deliverance of their poor countrymen ?" 

" They were certainly noble creatures," 
said Clara ; " one does not often hear, even in 
civilized countries, of persons who act so dis- 
interestedly." 

" Though instances of such generosity," said 
Mrs. Mills, " do not occur daily, they are, nev- 
ertheless, more frequent than we are aware of." 

" Do you think so V 9 said William. 

" Yes," replied Mrs. Mills, " the most gene- 
rous actions are performed in secret, and shun 
the noise of public fame : on this account it 
is that they do not so often come under our 
observation. I know, nevertheless, of several 
that might be put in competition with this 
which I have just recited : one, in particular, 
at this moment occurs to my remembrance." 

"Dear aunt," said Willi am and his sister* 
at the same instant, " do relate it." 



LOVE TO OUR NEIGHBOR. 65 

"The fact I allude to," said Mrs. Mills, 
" happened within these seven or eight years, 
in France, at a place called Noyon. Four 
men, who were employed in cleansing a com- 
mon sewer, on opening a drain, were so af- 
fected with the fetid vapors, that they were 
unable to return. The lateness of the hour, 
(for it was eleven at night,) rendered it diffi- 
cult to procure assistance, and the delay must 
have been fatal, had not a young girl, a ser- 
vant in the family, with courage and humani- 
ty that would have done honor to the most 
elevated station, at the hazard of her own life 
attempted their deliverance. This generous 
girl, who was only seventeen years of age, 
was, at her request, let down seven different 
times to the poor men, by a rope, and was so 
fortunate as to save two of them pretty easily ; 
but, in tying the third to a rope, which was 
let down to her for that purpose, she found 
her breath failing, and was so much affected 
with the vapor as to be in danger of suffoca- 
tion. In this dreadful situation she had the 
presence of mind to tie herself by her hair to 
the rope, and was drawn up, almost expiring, 
with the poor man in whose behalf she had 
so humanely exerted herself/' 

" I will answer for it," said Clara, " she had 
not courage to venture down for the other." 

" You are mistaken," said Mrs. Mills ; " far 
from being intimidated, the moment she re- 
covered her spirits, she insisted on being let 
6* 



CANDOR AND DIGNITY. 



down for the poor creature that remained, 
and she actually was ; but her exertions at 
this time failed of success, the poor man being 
drawn up dead." 

" Is this really a true story ?" said Clara. 

" It is an undoubted fact," replied Mrs. 
Mills ; " the corporation of the town of Noyon, 
as a small token of their approbation, pre- 
sented the generous girl with six hundred 
livres, and conferred on her the civic crown, 
with a medal engraven with the arms of the 
town, her name, and a narrative of the action. 
It is also said that the Duke of Orleans sent 
her five hundred livres. and settled two hundred 
yearly on her for life." 

" But to return," said Mrs. Mills, " to our 
first point : these, and many more examples 
of the same kind that I could cite, prove, that 
when our blessed Lord commands us to love 
our neighbor as ourselves, he does not exact 
that which is beyond the ability of his crea- 
tures to perform." 



CANDOR AND DIGNITY. 

Several gentlemen in the companjr of Lord 
Bolingbroke, were speaking of the avarice of 
the Duke of Marlborough ; and they appeal- 
ed to his lordship for the truth of the instan- 
ces which they adduced. " He is so great a 
man " replied Lord Bolingbroke, " that I have 
forgotten his vices." — A truly generous an- 



CIRCUMSPECTION. 



67 



swer for a political enemy to make, says Vol- 
taire, who relates the incident. 

Prince Kaunitz, prime minister at the court 
of Vienna, prevailed on his mistress, the late 
Empress of Germany, to bestow a very high 
post in the war department on a general offi- 
cer whom he had just reason to dislike. The 
latter, affected by this generous conduct, 
wished to recover the favor of the minister, 
and made advances towards a reconciliation. 
Kaunitz, however, refused ; observing that 
he had only done his duty, and what his 
opinion of the officer required, in causing his 
sovereign to pay a due regard to military 
merit. But being master of his private affec- 
tions, he was at full liberty to decline all per- 
sonal intimacy or connection with him. " I 
am fond of citing this anecdote/' says M. 
Neckar, " because it appears to me to unite per- 
sonal dignity with candor and public virtue." 



CIRCUMSPECTION. 

Lucy and Emilia were admiring the struc- 
ture of a spider's web, which was formed be- 
tween the branches of a tall shrub in the gar- 
den at Hart-Hill ; when Euphronius, return- 
ing from his morning walk, stopped to inquire 
what object so much engaged their attention. 
The dew-drops yet bespangled the fine threads 
of which the web was composed, and ren* 
dered every part of it conspicuously beautiful. 



68 



CIRCUMSPECTION. 



A small winged insect happened, at this 
instant, to be caught in the toil ; and the 
spider, before invisible, advanced along the 
lines from his secret retreat, seized the prey 
and killed it, by instilling a venomous juice 
into the wound he made. When the rapa- 
cious tyrant had almost devoured his game, 
another fly, of a larger size, became entangled 
in the mesh. 

He now waited patiently till the insect 
was fatigued, by struggling to obtain its lib- 
erty ; and then rolling the web around it, he 
left the poor fly in a state of terror and impo- 
tence, as a future repast for his returning ap- 
petite. 

You pity the fate, said Euphronius, of this 
unfortunate insect, whose destruction is the 
natural consequence of its arrogance and 
want of caution. Remember that you your- 
selves will be exposed, in the commerce of 
life, to various snares, dangerous to your vir- 
tue and subversive to your peace of mind, 
Flattery is the common toil laid for your sex ; 
and when you are entangled in it, vanity, af- 
fectation, pertness, and impatience of control, 
constitute the poison which is then infused 
into your wounded bosom. Pleasure spreads 
a glittering web, which has proved fatal to 
thousands. Sophron and Alexis had now 
joined the little party ; and Euphronius, 
pointing to them his discourse, bid them be- 
ware of the cobwebs of philosophy ; those 



THE WEAKNESS OF MAN. 



69 



line-spun hypotheses which involve the mind 
in error, and unfit it for the patient investi- 
gation of truth by observation and experi- 
ment. 

THE WEAKNESS OF MAN. 

Disorders of the intellect occur much more 
frequently than superficial observers will 
easily believe. There is no man whose im- 
agination does not sometimes predominate 
over his reason ; and every such tyranny of 
fancy is a temporary degree of insanity. He 
who delights in silent speculation, often in- 
dulges, without restraint, the airy visions of 
the soul, and expatiates in boundless futurity, 
amusing his desires with impossible enjoy- 
ments, and conferring upon his pride unat- 
tainable dominion. In time, some particular 
train of ideas absorbs the attention ; the 
mind recurs constantly, in weariness or lei- 
sure, to the favorite conception ; and the 
sway of fancy becomes despotic. Delusions 
then operate as realities ; false opinions en- 
gross the understanding ; and life passes in 
dreams of pleasure or of misery. 

An Egyptian astronomer who had spent 
forty years in unwearied attention to the mo- 
tion and appearances of the heavenly bodies, 
conceived that he was invested with the 
power of regulating the weather and vary- 
ing the seasons. The sun, he thought, obeyed 



70 



THE WEAKNESS OF MAN. 



his mandates, and passed from tropic to tropic 
by his direction ; the clouds burst at his call 
on the southern mountains ; and the inunda- 
tions of the Nile were governed by his will. 
He mitigated the rage of the dog-star, re- 
strained the equinoctial tempest, and dispens- 
ed rain and sunshine to the several nations 
of the earth. Such power, though imagina- 
ry, was too extensive for the feebleness of 
man ; and the astronomer sunk under the 
burdens of an office which he labored to ad- 
minister with impartial justice and universal 
benevolence. 

The discordant claims of different regions 
and climates, and the opposite requisitions 
of the various fruits of the ground in the same 
district, harassed his mind with incessant 
care, suspense, and perplexity. If he suffered 
the clouds to pour down their treasures on 
the thirsty deserts of Arabia, impetuous tor- 
rents overwhelmed the fertile plains of Bas- 
sora ; and when he sent forth a storm to 
sweep away the pestilential Samiel, which 
carried death and desolation in its progress, a 
fleet, laden with the richest merchandise, 
was shipwrecked in the Gulf of Ormus. The 
fervid beams of the sun, while they matured 
the luscious grape of Smyrna, destroyed the 
harvest of corn, and scorched the herbage of 
the fields. 

The philosopher thought he could, perhaps, 
remedy these evils by turning aside the axis 



LYING. 



71 



of the earth, and varying the ecliptic of the 
sun. But he found it impossible to make a 
change of position by which the world could 
be advantaged ; and he dreaded the injury 
which he might occasion to distant and un- 
known parts of the solar system. Oppressed 
with anxiety, he earnestly solicited the great 
Governor of the universe to divest him of the 
painful pre-eminence with which he was 
honored. " Father of light," he cried, " thy 
omnipotent hand and all-seeing eye are alone 
equal to the mighty empire of this globe. 
The vast operations of nature exceed my 
finite comprehension ; and I now feel with 
reverence and humility that to dispense good 
and evil, in all those varied combinations 
which constitute the harmonious system on 
which the general happiness depends, nothing 
less can be required than an unerring wis- 
dom, spotless rectitude, and sovereign power." 

The Deity listened with indulgence to a 
prayer which flowed from a sincere and pious 
heart. In the folly of the astronomer, He 
saw and pitied the weakness of human na- 
ture, and by strengthening the present con- 
viction of his mind, He graciously removed 
the insanity under which he labored. 



LYING. 

Mendaculus was a youth of good parts, 
and of amiable dispositions ; but by keeping 



72 



LYING. 



bad company, he had contracted, in an ex- 
treme degree, the odious practice of lying, 
His word was scarcely ever believed by his 
friends ; and he was often suspected of faults, 
because he denied the commission of them ; 
and punished for offences of which he was 
convicted only by his assertions of innocence. 

The experience of every day manifested 
the disadvantages which he suffered from the 
habitual violation of truth. He had a gar- 
den stocked with the choicest flowers, and the 
cultivation of it was his favorite amusement,, 
It happened that the cattle of the adjoining 
pasture had broken down the fence, and he 
found them trampling upon and destroying a 
bed of auriculas. He could not drive those 
ravagers away without endangering the still 
more valuable productions of the next par- 
terre ; and he hastened to request the assist- 
ance of the gardener. " You intend to make 
a fool of me," said the man, who refused to 
go, as he gave no credit to the relation of 
Mendaculus. 

One frosty day his father had the misfor- 
tune to be thrown from his horse, and to frac- 
ture his thigh. Mendaculus was present, 
and was deeply affected by the accident, but 
had not strength to afford the necessary 
help. He was, therefore, obliged to leave 
him in this painful condition on the ground, 
which was at that time covered with snow ; 
and with all the expedition in his power, he 



LYING. 



73 



rode to Manchester to solicit the aid of the 
first benevolent person he should meet with. 
His character as a liar was generally known. 
Few to whom he applied paid attention to 
his story, and no one believed it. After losing 
much time in fruitless entreaties, he returned 
with a sorrowful heart, and with his eyes 
bathed in tears, to the place where the acci- 
dent happened. But his father was removed 
from thence. A coach, fortunately, passed 
that way ; he was taken into it and conveyed 
to his own house, whither Mendaculus soon 
followed him. 

A lusty boy, of whom Mendaculus had told 
some falsehoods, often waylaid him as he 
went to school, and beat him with great se- 
verity. Conscious of his ill desert, Mendacu- 
lus bore for some time in silence this chastise- 
ment ; but the frequent repetition of it at last 
overpowered his resolution, and he complain- 
ed to his father of the usage which he met 
with. His father, though dubious of the truth 
of his account, applied to the parents of the 
boy who abused him. But he could obtain 
no redress of them, and only received the 
following painful answer: "Your son is a 
notorious liar, and we pay no regard to his 
assertions." Mendaculus was, therefore, 
obliged to submit to the wonted correction, 
till full satisfaction had been taken by his an- 
tagonist, for the injury which he had sus- 
tained. 

7 



74 



VIGILANT OBSERVATION. 



Such were the evils in which this unfortu- 
nate youth almost daily involved himself, by 
the habit of lying. 

He was sensible of his misconduct, and 
began to reflect upon it with seriousness and 
contrition. Resolutions of amendment suc- 
ceeded to penitence : he set a guard upon his 
words ; spoke little, and always with caution 
and reserve ; and he soon found, by sweet 
experience, that truth is more easy and na- 
tural than falsehood. By degrees the love of • 
it became predominant in his mind ; and so 
sacred at length did he hold veracity to be, 
that he scrupled even the least jocular viola- 
tion of it. This happy change restored him 
to the esteem of his friends, the confidence of 
the public, and the peace of his own con- 
science 



VIGILANT OBSERVATION. 

Be attentive, my dear Alexis, to every 
event which occurs, and to all the objects 
which surround you. Suffer nothing to es- 
cape your notice. The minutest substance, 
or the most trivial incident, may furnish im- 
portant knowledge, or be applied to some 
useful purpose. I have heard that the great 
law of gravitation, by which the whole sys- 
tem of the universe is governed, was first 
suggested to the mind of Sir Isaac Newton 
by the accidental fall of an apple, which 



VIGILANT OBSERVATION. 



75 



he observed on a very still day in a gar- 
den. 

Archimedes, a Sicilian philosopher, who 
flourished two centuries before Christ, hap- 
pened to remark, while he was bathing, that 
the bulk of the water was increased, in a 
certain proportion, by his immersion in it. 
A fortunate train of ideas instantly arose in 
his mind : he saw at one view the method of 
ascertaining the specific gravities of bodies, 
that is, how much they are lighter or heavier 
than others of a different kind ; and he per- 
ceived he should now be able to detect the 
fraud of an artist, who had mixed base metal 
with the gold of King Dionysius' crown. So 
overjoyed was he at this discovery, that, it is 
said, he ran naked out of the bath into the 
streets of Syracuse, crying out, " I have found 
it ! I have found it !" The hydrostatical bal- 
ance is framed on the theorem of Archime- 
des, " that a body heavier than water weighs 
less in water than in air, by the weight of as 
much water as is equal to it in bulk." And 
this instrument is employed to estimate the 
purity of metals, the richest of ores, and the 
relation which a variety of substances bear 
to each other. 

Dr. Franklin, when he was on board the 
fleet of ships bound against Louisburgh in 
1757, happened to observe that the wakes of 
two of the vessels were remarkably smooth, 
while those of all the rest were ruffled by the 



76 



WOMAN AS SHE SHOULD BE. 



wind, which then blew fresh. He was puz- 
zled with the appearance, and pointing it out to 
the captain of his ship, asked him the causr of 
it. " The cooks," said he, " have probably been 
pouring out their greasy water." Though 
this solution by no means satisfied the phi- 
losopher, he determined to take the first op- 
portunity of trying the effect of oil in water ; 
and you are well acquainted with the suc- 
cess of his curious and very useful experi- 
ments on this subject. 

We are informed by Mr. Boyle, that Har- 
vey had the first glimpse of the circulation of 
the blood, from a view of the valves of the 
veins, as they were exhibited by Fabricius, 
the anatomist, to his pupils. The invention 
of mezzotinto is said to have taken rise from 
the observance of regular figures on a rusty 
gun-barrel. Geoffrey relates that the virtues 
of the Peruvian bark were discovered by an 
Indian, who, in the hot fit of an intermittent, 
drank largely of the water of a pool, into 
which some of those trees that yield it had 
fallen. But I shall repeat no further instances 
of this kind, till I can add to the number some 
valuable acquisition of yours ; the happy fruit* 
my dear Alexis, of your sagacity and attention. 



WOMAN AS SHE SHOULD BE. 

Give ear, fair daughter of innocence, to the 
instructions of prudence, and let the precepts 



WOMAN AS SHE SHOULD BE. 



77 



<rf truth sink deep in thy heart ; so shall the 
charms of thy mind add lustre to the elegance 
thy form ; and thy beauty, like the rose it 
resembles, shall retain its sweetness when its 
bloom is withered* 

Remember thou art made man's reasonable 
companion, not the slave of his passions* The 
end of thy being is to assist him in the toils of 
life, to soothe him with thy tenderness, and to 
recompense his care with soft endearments. 

"Who is she that wins the heart of man, that 
subdues him to love, and reigns in his breast ? 
Lo ! yonder she walks in maiden sweetness, 
with innocence in her mind, and modesty on 
her cheek. 

She is clothed with neatness, she is fed with 
temperance ; humility and meekness are as a 
crown of glory encircling her head. Decency 
is in all her words, in her answers are mild- 
ness and truth. 

When virtue and modesty enlighten her 
charms, she is beautiful as the stars of heaven. 
The innocence of her eye is like that of the 
turtle ; simplicity and truth dwell in her heart. 

She presides in the house, and there is 
peace ; she commands with judgment, and is 
obeyed. The care of her family is her delight ; 
to that she applies her study ; and elegance 
with frugality is seen in her mansion. The 
prudence of her management is an honor to 
her husband, and he hears her praise with a 
secret delight. 

7 # 



78 AGRICULTURE. 

She informs the minds of her children with 
wisdom ; she fashions their manners from the 
example of her own goodness. The word of 
her mouth is the law of their youth, the mo- 
tion of her eye commands obedience. 

In prosperity she is not puffed up ; in ad- 
versity she heals the wounds of fortune with 
patience. The troubles of her husband are 
alleviated by her counsels, and sweetened by 
her endearments. 

Happy is the man that hath made her his 
wife ; happy is the child that calls her 
mother. 



AGRICULTURE. 

Agriculture, or husbandry, is the art of cul- 
tivating or tilling the ground, so that it may 
produce, in the greatest abundance and per- 
fection, those vegetable productions which are 
necessary for the food, comfort, and conveni- 
ence of mankind. 

It is from the hand of agriculture that man- 
ufactures and commerce, and indeed every 
other branch of industry receive their sup- 
port. The cultivation of the earth may there- 
fore be considered as the most useful and 
laudable of all pursuits. 

Here, as in some other countries, we have 
many examples of distinguished individuals, 
who have left the seat of power, the theatre 
of political action, and the splendor and opu- 



AGRICULTURE. 



79 



lence of cities, that they might enjoy the plea- 
sure of cultivating their native fields. 

The pursuits of agriculture are connected 
with that love of country which may be called 
a universal passion. The charms of nature 
are here fully displayed, and every mind 
which is not debased by vicious habits, or 
enslaved by irregular desires, is eager to enjoy 
them. 

A principle so universally felt, has never 
failed to call forth the powers of genius ; and 
writers of all ages have expatiated on rural 
scenes and occupations with the most lively 
satisfaction. 

Every poet more especially claims the 
country as his peculiar province ; from it he 
derives the most beautiful and striking descrip- 
tions, and is enabled to represent those various 
prospects of nature which are so highly-grati- 
fying to every ingenious mind. 

Agriculture is not only essential to the good 
order of society, in a rude and unpolished 
state, but is equally requisite in every stage 
of its refinement. As an incitement to its 
constant and uniform pursuit, it repays the 
exertions of the husbandman with regular and 
abundant returns. From the remotest ages 
it has been esteemed worthy of general at- 
tention. The simplicity of ancient manners 
rendered it an object not inconsistent with 
the rank and situation of persons of the great- 
est eminence. 



80 



AGRICULTURE. 



Gideon, the renowned champion and judge 
of Israel, quitted the thrashing-floor to preside 
in the public assembly of his countrymen; 
and Cincinnatus, the conqueror of the Volsci, 
left his plough to lead the Roman armies to 
battle, and afterwards declined the reward 
gained by his victories, to return to his na- 
tive fields. 

And in modern times this occupation has 
been held in no less esteem. There are not 
wanting those among the English nobility 
who take a lively interest in all rural im- 
provements, and preside at the annual meet- 
ings of agriculturists, with no less reputation 
to themselves than benefit to the art. 

Washington found the most pleasing re- 
laxation of public cares in the superintend- 
ence of his own estate. The emperor of 
China, at the beginning of every spring, goes 
to plough in person, attended by the princes 
and grandees of his empire : he celebrates the 
close of the harvest among his subjects, and 
creates the best farmer in his dominion a 
mandarin. 

In various ages many have written to ex- 
plain the principles and celebrate the excel- 
lences of this art. Some have adorned it with 
the elegance of fancy, and others have method- 
ized it with the precision of rules. Hesiod 
was one of the earliest of the Grecian poets 
to sing the praises of the plough ; and in a 
work nearly coeval with the Iliad itself, has 



FAMILY LOVE AND HARMONY. 



81 



combined with the principles of the art, many 
curious observations on the seasons most pro- 
pitious to its various employments. 

At a period of society when its advantages 
were better understood, and its practice more 
generally diffused, Xenophon expatiated in 
his economics on the importance of agricul- 
ture, and describes its influence on the pros- 
perity of the arts, and the advancement of 
civilization. 

Virgil has described at large the rural oc- 
cupations of his countrymen, the cultivation 
of the land, the season most favorable for til- 
lage, and the nature of grazing and planting. 
He has adorned every branch of his subject 
with refined and striking beauties of compo- 
sition ; and has so fully collected the best ob- 
servations and choicest maxims of antiquity, 
as to render it almost a superfluous task to 
consult the works of other authors, relative to 
the progress which his predecessors had made 
in this subject. 



FAMILY LOVE AND HARMONY. 

I will amuse you with a little experiment, 
said Sophron one evening, to Lucy, Emilia, 
Alexis, and Jacobus ; and rising from the ta- 
ble, he took the candles and held them about 
an inch asunder opposite to a medallion of 
Dr. Franklin, and about two yards distant 



82 



FAMILY LOVE AND HARMONY. 



from it. The motto round the figure, unhurt 
amidst the war of elements, was just distinctly 
visible. When the degree of light had been 
sufficiently observed, he united the flames of 
the two candles by putting them close togeth- 
er ; and the whole figure, with the inscrip- 
tion, became instantly illuminated in a much 
stronger manner than before. 

They were all pleased and struck with the 
effect ; they desired Euphronius, who now 
entered the parlor, to explain to them the 
cause of it. He commended their entertain- 
ment, and informed them that a greater de- 
gree of heat is produced by the junction of 
the two flames, and consequently a farther 
attenuation, and more copious emission of the 
particles of which light consists. " But, my 
dear children," continued he, " attend to the 
lesson of virtue as well as of science, which 
the experiment you have seen affords. Na- 
ture has implanted in your hearts benevo- 
lence, friendship, gratitude, and generosity ; 
and these social affections are, separately, 
shining lights in the world. But they burn 
with peculiar warmth and lustre when more 
concentrated in the kindred charities of 
brother, sister, child, and parent. And har- 
mony, peace, sympathy in joy and grief, mu- 
tual good offices, forgiveness and forbearance, 
are the bright emanations of domestic love 
Oh ! may the radiance of such virtues long 
illuminate this happy household ! 



INDIAN GRATITUDE, ETC. 



83 



INDIAN GRATITUDE ; EUROPEAN INJUSTICE. 

An American Indian was betrayed on board 
a ship, and sold as a slave. No cruelties 
could tame the high-spirited savage to labor ; 
he refused sustenance. Another shipmaster, 
struck with his distress, bought him for a trifle, 
and carried him back to Canada. The joy 
which flashed in his eye on approaching his 
native shore was checked by gratitude to his 
deliverer. He swam back to the ship — he 
was landed again with presents — he left his 
presents and swam back to his benefactor, 
with the generous emotion of a mind which 
had strongly felt misfortunes, but more strong- 
ly the attachment to its deliverer. 

" I knew no sorrow," said he, " till I was 
betrayed, insulted, and whipped. I will re- 
turn to my nation, for they will give me my 
hatchet. Though I had no presents to give, 
you gave me freedom, and now load me with 
presents. My eyes never shed tears before. 
Promise but to remember me, and to return 
after twelve moons, and I will give you many 
furs, and lay the scalps of my fiercest enemies 
at your feet." 

When he had thus given language to his 
heart, he walked off in silence. 

There is a greatness in this savage's feel- 
ings, which could be equalled only by the 
liberality of the man who deserved them. 



84 



SISTERLY UNITY AND LOVE. 



RESPECT AND DEFERENCE DUE TO THE AGED. 

An aged citizen of Athens coming late into 
the public theatre of that city, so celebrated 
for arts and learning, found the place crowded 
with company, and every seat engaged. — 
Though the spectators were his countrymen, 
and most of them young persons, no one had 
the politeness or humanity to make room for 
him. But when he passed into the part which 
was allotted to the Lacedaemonian ambassa- 
dors and their attendants, they all rose up, 
and accommodated the old gentleman with 
the best and most honorable seat amongst 
them. 

The whole company w T ere equally surprised 
and delighted w r ith this instance of urbanitj 7 , 
and expressed their approbation by loud plau- 
dits. "The Athenians perfectly understand 
the rules of good manners," said one of the 
ambassadors in return for this compliment, 
" but the Lacedaemonians practise them." 



SISTERLY UNITY AND LOVE. 

" Observe those two hounds that are coupled 
together." said Euphronius to Lucy and Emi- 
lia, who were looking through the window. 
" How they torment each other by a disagree- 
ment in their pursuits ! 

" One is for moving slowly and the other 



SISTERLY UNITY AND LOVE. 85 

vainly urges onward. The larger dog now 
sees some object that tempts him on this side, 
and mark how he drags his companion along, 
who is exerting all his efforts to pursue a dif- 
ferent route ! Thus they will continue all 
day at variance, pulling each other in oppo- 
site directions, when they might, by kind and 
mutual compliances, pass on easily, merrily, 
and happily."* 

Lucy and Emilia concurred in censuring 
the folly and ill-nature of these dogs ; and 
Euphronius expressed a tender wish that he 
might never see any thing similar in their be- 
havior to each other. Nature has linked 
you together by the near equality of age, by 
your common relation to the most indulgent 
parents, by the endearing ties of sisterhood, 
and by all those generous sympathies which 
* have been fostered in your bosoms from your 
earliest infancy. Let these silken cords of 
mutual love continue to unite you in the same 
pursuits. Suffer no allurements to draw you 
different ways, no contradictory passions to 
distract your friendship, nor any selfish views 
or sordid jealousies to render those bonds un- 
easy and oppressive which are now your 
ornament, your strength and highest happi- 
ness. 

* I am indebted to Mr. Dodsley for the subject, but not 
for the narration or moral application of this fable. 

8 



86 CREDULITY. 



GOOD-NATURED CREDULITY. 

A Chaldean peasant was conducting a goat 
to the city of Bagdat. He was mounted on 
an ass, and the goat followed him, with a bell 
suspended from his neck. " I shall sell these 
animals," said he to himself, " for thirty pieces 
of silver ; and with this money I can purchase 
a new turban, and a rich vestment of taffety, 
which I will tie with a sash of purple silk. 
The young damsels will then smile more fa- 
vorably upon me, and I shall be the finest man 
at the mosque." 

While the peasant was thus anticipating 
in idea his future enjoyments, three artful 
rogues concerted a stratagem to plunder him 
of his present treasure. As he moved slowly 
along, one of them slipped off the bell from • 
the neck of the goat, and fastening it, without 
being perceived, to the tail of the ass, carried 
away his booty. 

The man riding upon the ass, and hearing 
the sound of the bell, continued to muse with- 
out the least suspicion of the loss which he 
had sustained. Happening, however, a short 
while afterwards, to turn about his head, he 
discovered, with grief and astonishment, that 
the animal was gone which constituted so 
considerable a part of his riches : and he in- 
quired with the utmost anxiety after his goat 
of every traveller whom he met. 



CREDULITY. 



87 



The second rogue now accosted him, and 
said, " I have just seen in yonder fields a man 
in great haste dragging along with him a 
goat." The peasant dismounted with pre- 
cipitation, and requested the obliging stranger 
to hold his ass, that he might lose no time in 
overtaking the thief. He instantly began the 
pursuit ; and having traversed in vain the 
course that was pointed out to him, he came 
back fatigued and breathless to the place 
from whence he set out, where he neither 
found his ass, nor the deceitful informer, to 
whose care he had intrusted him. 

As he walked pensively onward, over- 
whelmed with shame, vexation, and disap- 
pointment, his attention was aroused by the 
loud complaints and lamentations of a poor 
man who sat by the side of a well. He turn- 
ed out of the way to sympathize with a brother 
in affliction, recounted his own misfortunes, 
and inquired the cause of that violent sorrow 
which seemed to oppress him. 

" Alas !" said the poor man, in the most 
piteous tone of voice, " as I was resting here 
to drink, I dropped into the water a casket 
full of diamonds, which I was employed to 
carry to the caliph at Bagdat ; and I shal] be 
put to death on the suspicion of having se- 
creted so valuable a treasure." 

" Why do not you jump into the well in 
search of the casket V 9 cried the peasant, as- 



88 INSTRUCTIVE EXPERIMENT. 

tonished at the stupidity of his new acquaint- 
ance V 9 

" Because it is deep," replied the man, " and 
I can neither dive nor swim. But will you 
undertake this kind office for me, and I will 
reward you with thirty pieces of silver P 

The peasant accepted the offer with exul- 
tation ; and while he was putting off his cas- 
sock, vest, and slippers, poured out his soul in 
thanksgivings to the holy prophet for his 
providential succor. But the moment he 
plunged into the water in search of the pre- 
tended casket, the man (who was one of the 
three rogues that had concerted the plan of 
robbing him) seized upon his garments, and 
bore them off in security to his comradeSc 

Thus, through inattention, simplicity, and 
credulity, was the unfortunate Chaldean duped 
of all his little possessions ; and he hastened 
to his cottage with no other covering for his 
nakedness than a tattered garment, which he 
borrowed on the road. # 



AN EASY AND INSTRUCTIVE EXPERIMENT. 

It was a clear frosty day : the sun shone 
bright, and the ground was covered with 
snow, when Euphronius invited Alexis, Lucy, 

* The story is said to have been written by an Arabian 
author ; but I have taken the liberty of deviating from the 
original, and of making additions to it. 



INSTRUCTIVE EXPERIMENT. 



89 



Emilia, and Jacobus, to assist him in a little 
experiment which he thought would contri- 
bute to their instruction and amusement. He 
took four pieces of woollen cloth, equal in di- 
mension, but of different colors ; one being 
black, another blue, a third brown, and a 
fourth white ; and having chosen a proper 
situation, he laid them all very near each 
other on the surface of the snow. In a few 
hours the black piece of cloth had sunk con- 
siderably below the surface, the blue almost 
as much, the brown a little, but the white re- 
mained precisely in its position. 

" Observe," said Euphronius, " how varied 
is the influence of the sun's rays on different 
colors ! They are absorbed and retained by 
the black ; and in the piece of cloth before 
us they have produced such a strong and du- 
rable heat as to melt the snow underneath. 

Their effect on blue is nearly similar, but 
they seem not to penetrate the white : and a 
piece of that color, by having no warmth com- 
municated to it, still continues on the surface 
of the snow. 

This little experiment teaches you, Emilia, 
that white hats will afford the best defence 
to your complexion ; but that they should have 
dark linings, to absorb the rays of light which 
are reflected from the earth. You may learn 
from it, Alexis, that clothes of a light color 
are best adapted to summer, and to hot cli- 
mates; that black substances acquire heat 
8# 



90 MATERNAL CLAIMS TO DUTY. 

sooner, and retain it longer than any other ; 
and that fruit-walls, drying-stoves, &c, should 
be painted black. Other inferences I shall 
leave to you the pleasure of discovering. Al- 
low me only to remind you that knowledge 
and virtue may be justly compared to rays of 
light ; and that it is my warmest wish and 
highest ambition that your heart and under- 
standing may unite the qualities of the two 
opposite colors you have been contemplating. 
May your mind be quick in the reception, and 
steady in the retention of every good impres- 
sion ! And may the lustre of your endow- 
ments be reflected on your brothers, sisters, 
and friends ! 

MATERNAL CLAIMS TO DUTY. 
Paraphrased from Xenopkon. 

It has been the maxim of some of the pas- 
sionate admirers of antiquity, that " all novel- 
ty is but oblivion." And though this obser- 
vation is only to be admitted with certain 
restrictions, it has sufficient foundation to in- 
cite our diligent inquiries into the records of 
ancient literature. As time stamps additional 
value on whatever is useful and important, 
the treasures which we discover in the rich 
mines of Greece and Rome, will appear to us 
of more intrinsic worth than those which mod- 
ern periods have opened to our view. 

It may therefore be more wise in me than 



MA11RNAL CLAIMS TO DUTY. 



91 



the pedant of ^ M, to purchase the lamp of 
Socrates ; and b} borrowing his light and en- 
larging upon his precepts, become a philoso- 
pher and teacher of morality. 

Lamprocles, the eldest son of Socrates, 
fell into a violent passion with his mother. 
Socrates was a witness to this shameful mis- 
behavior, and attempted the correction of it 
in the following gentle and rational manner : 

" Come hither, son," said he ; " have you 
never heard of men who are called ungrate- 
ful V 

" Yes, frequently," answered the youth. 
" And what is ingratitude V 9 demanded Soc- 
rates. 

" It is to receive a kindness," said Lam- 
procles, " without making a proper return 
when there is a favorable opportunity." 

" Ingratitude would be injustice, therefore/' 
said Socrates. 

" I should think so," answered Lampro- 
cles. 

" If, then," pursued Socrates, " ingratitude 
be injustice, does it not follow that the de- 
gree of it must be proportionate to the mag- 
nitude of the favors which have been re- 
ceived V 9 

Lamprocles admitted the inference, and 
Socrates thus pursued his interrogations. 

" Can there subsist higher obligations than 
those which children owe to their parents ; 
from whom life is derived and supported, and 



92 MATERNAL CLAIMS TO DUTY. 

by whose good offices it is rendered honora- 
ble, useful, and happy?" 

" I acknowledge the truth of what you say," 
replied Lamprocles ; " but who could suffer, 
without resentment, the ill-humors of such a 
mother as I have V 

" What strange thing has she done to you ?" 
said Socrates. 

" She has a tongue," replied Lamprocles, 
" that no mortal can bear." 

" How much more," said Socrates, " has she 
endured from your wrangling, fretfulness, and 
incessant cries, in the period of infancy ! 
What anxieties has she suffered from the 
levities, capriciousness, and follies of your 
childhood and youth ! What affliction has 
she felt, what toil and watching has she sus- 
tained in your illnesses ! These and various 
other powerful motives to filial duty and 
gratitude have been recognised by the legis- 
lators of our republic. For if any one be 
disrespectful to his parents he is not permitted 
to enjoy any post of trust or honor. 

" It is believed that a sacrifice offered by an 
impious hand can neither be acceptable to 
the gods nor profitable to the state ; and that 
an undutiful son cannot be capable of per- 
forming any great action, or of executing dis- 
tributive justice with impartiality. Similar 
marks of disgrace are likewise ordained for 
those who, after the death of their parents, 
neglect their funeral rites. This circumstance 



FRATERNAL AFFECTION. 



93 



is particularly inquired into when the char- 
acters of those are examined who are the 
candidates for public offices : therefore, my 
son, if you be wise, you will pray to the gods 
to pardon the offences committed against 
your mother. Let no one discover the con- 
tempt with which you have treated her ; for 
the world will condemn and abandon you for 
such behavior. And if it be even suspected 
that you repay with ingratitude the good offi- 
ces of your parents, you will inevitably forego 
the kindnesses of others; because no man 
will suppose that you have a heart to requite 
either his favors or his friendship." 



FRATERNAL AFFECTION. 
Paraphrased from Xenophon. 

Two brothers, named Chosrephon and Chae- 
recrates, had quarrelled with each other, 
when Socrates, being acquainted with them, 
was solicitous to restore their amity. Meet- 
ing, therefore, with Choerecrates, he thus ac- 
costed him : " Is not friendship the sweetest 
solace in adversity, and the greatest enchant- 
ment of the blessings of prosperity ?" " Cer- 
tainly it is," replied Choerecrates, " because our 
sorrows are diminished and our joys increas- 
ed by sympathetic participation." 

" Among whom, then, must we look for a 
friend ?" said Socrates. " Would you search 



94 



FRATERNAL AFFECTION. 



among strangers ? they cannot be interested 
about you. Among your rivals ? they have 
an interest in opposition to yours. Among 
those who are much older or younger than 
yourself? their feelings and pursuits will be 
widely different from yours. Are there not, 
then, some circumstances favorable and others 
essential to the constitution of friendship '?" 

" Undoubtedly there are," answered Chcere- 
crates. " May we not enumerate," continued 
Socrates, " among the circumstances favora- 
ble to friendship, long acquaintance, common 
connection, similitude of age and union of 
interest ?" " I acknowledge," said Choerecra- 
tes, " the powerful influence of these cir- 
cumstances ; but they may subsist, and yet 
others be wanting that are essential to mu- 
tual amity." "And what," said Socrates, 
are those essentials which are wanting in 
Choerephon V* " He has forfeited my esteem 
and attachment," answered Choerecrates. 

" And he has also forfeited the esteem and 
attachment of the rest of mankind," continued 
Socrates. "Is he devoid of benevolence, 
generosity, gratitude, and other social affec- 
tions ?" " The gods forbid," cried Choerecra- 
tes, " that I should lay such a heavy charge 
upon him ! His conduct to others, I believe, 
is irreproachable ; and it wounds me the 
more, that he should single me out as the ob- 
ject of his unkindness." 

"Suppose you have a very valuable 



FRATERNAL AFFECTION. 



95 



horse," resumed Socrates, " gentle under the 
treatment of others, but ungovernable when 
you attempt to use him ; would you not en- 
deavor by all means to conciliate his affec- 
tion, and to treat him in a way the most likely 
to render him tractable ? Or if you have a 
dog, highly prized for his fidelity, watchful- 
ness, and care of your flocks, which is fond 
of your shepherds, and playful with them, 
and yet snarls whenever you come in his way, 
would you attempt to cure him of this fault 
by angry looks or words, or any other marks 
of resentment ? You would surely pursue an 
opposite course with him. And is not the 
friendship of a brother of far more worth than 
the services of a horse, or the attachment of 
a dog ? Why then do you delay to put in 
practice those means which may reconcile 
you to Choerephon V 9 

" Acquaint me with those means," answered 
Choerecrates, " for I am a stranger to them." 
" Answer me . a few questions," said Socrates. 
"If you desire that one of your neighbors 
should invite you to his feast when he offers 
a sacrifice, what course would you take ?" 
" I would first invite him to mine." " And 
how would you induce him to take the charge 
of your affairs when you are on a journey ?" 
"I should be forward to do the same good 
office to him in his absence." " If you be so- 
licitous to remove a prejudice which he may 
have received against you, how would you 



98 CANARY-BIRD AXD RED LINNET. 

i 

then behave towards him ?" " I should en- 
deavor to convince him by my looks, words, 
and actions, that such prejudice was ill-found- 
ed." " And if he appeared inclined to recon- 
ciliation, would you reproach him with the 
injustice he had done you V 9 

" No," answered Choerecrates, " I would 
repeat no grievances." " Go," said Socrates, < 
" and pursue that conduct towards your bro- 
ther w r hich you would practise to a neighbor. 
His friendship is of inestimable worth ; and 
nothing is more delightful to the gods, than 
for brethren to dwell together in unity." 



THE CANARY-BIRD AND RED LINNET. 

One fine evening in the month of May, a 
canary-bird was carried into the garden at 
Hart-hill. The cage was suspended on the 
branch of a cherry-tree, the blossoms and 
leaves of which overspread the top of it, fur- 
nishing at once a delightful shade and luxu- 
rious repast. I sat down near it on a bank 
of turf, and was highly pleased to observe 
how much the little creature seemed to enjoy 
his new situation. After fluttering his wings 
about, and pecking the blossoms wilich pre- 
sented themselves through the wires of the 
cage, he at length fixed himself upon his 
perch, and began the most melodious song 
I ever heard. His notes were so tuneful, 
distinct, and various, that he soon silenced 



CANARY-BIRD AND RED LINNET. 

the music of a neighboring shrubbery, and 
drew several birds into the cherry-tree. The 
song of the canary was now interrupted by a 
loud chirping, which proceeded, as I could 
clearly discern through the leaves of the tree, 
from a red linnet perched on a twig almost 
close to the cage. When the linnet ceased, 
the canary-bird seemed to reply in a similar 
manner, but with more sweetness and com- 
posure. Imagination soon made me acquaint- 
ed with this new language ; and I supposed 
the following dialogue to have been carried 
on between them. 

Linnet. Silly bird ! what cause hast thou 
to raise such cheerful and exulting notes ? 
Compare with ours thy wretched situation. 
And when thou viewest the blessings that we 
possess, show at least some share of wisdom 
•and sensibility, by lamenting thy incapacity 
of attaining them. To rejoice in calamity, is 
surely the height of folly. 

Canary-bird. Your reproofs are cruel and 
unjust. It is over the comforts and not the 
evils of my situation that I rejoice. When I 
see you roving at large, I feel the loss of lib- 
erty ; and as I hop from one side of my pris- 
on to another, I often expand my wings, con- 
scious of powers which I am restrained from 
exercising. Nor am I indifferent to those so- 
cial pleasures, of which, though sometimes a 
witness, I am never a partaker. But why 
should I repine that in these respects you are 

9 



98 CANARY-BIRD AND RED LINNET. 

more happy than myself? As reasonably 
might you complain that partial heaven has 
conferred advantages on me which are denied 
to you ; or in that season when you are ex- 
posed to hardships, famine, and danger, I 
am fed with a liberal hand ; sheltered from 
the winter's cold ; and protected from the 
fowler, and every animal of prey. Allow me 
then, without reproach, to express my thank- 
fulness to God in songs of praise ; to bear 
my lot with cheerful resignation ; and even 
to rejoice in that good, which, though with- 
holden from me, is bestowed upon others of 
the feathered race. 

Impressed with these ideas, I rose from my 
seat and retired to my chamber, pondering 
the lesson of benevolence, gratitude, and 
contentment which I had heard. My win- 
dow commanded a view of a rich and ex 
tensive plain, bounded by lofty mountains. 
The sun particularly illuminated a craggy 
cliff, the summit and sides of which were 
covered with pine-trees. Fancy was on the 
wing, and instantly transported me to the 
striking scene. I conceived it to be the resi- 
dence of Theophilus ; and as I entered the 
favorite grove of the pious philosopher, his 
evening meditations thus saluted my intellec- 
tual ear : — " Teach me to love Thee, and thy 
divine administration ; to regard the universe 
itself as my true and genuine country; not that 
little casual spot where I first drew vital air. 



CANARY-BIRD AND RED LINNET. 99 



Teach me to regard myself but as a part of 
this great whole ; a part which for its wel- 
fare I am patiently to resign, as I resign a 
single limb for the welfare of my whole body. 
Let my life be a continued scene of acquies- 
cence and of gratitude ; of gratitude for what 
I enjoy, and of acquiescence in what I suffer ; 
as both can only be referable to that order of 
events which cannot but be best, as being by 
Thee approved and chosen. 

" Inasmuch as futurity is hidden from my 
sight, I can have no other rule of choice, by 
which to govern my conduct, than what 
seems consonant to the welfare of my own 
particular nature. If it appear not contrary 
to duty and moral office, (and how should I 
judge but from what appears ?) Thou canst 
not but forgive me, if I prefer health to sick- 
ness, the safety of life and limb, to maiming or 
to deaths But did I know that these incidents, 
or any were appointed me, in that order of 
events by which Thou preservest and adornest 
the whole, it then becomes my duty to meet 
them with magnanimity, to co-operate with 
cheerfulness in what Thou ordainest, that so 
I may know no other will than thine alone ; 
and that the harmony of my particular mind 
with thy universal, may be steady and unin- 
terrupted through the period of my existence. 

" Yet since to attain this height, this trans- 
cendant height, is but barely possible, if pos- 
sible, to the most perfect humanity ; regard 



100 CANARY-BIRD AND RED LINNET. 

what within me is congenial to Thee, raise 
me above myself, and warm me into enthu- 
siasm. But let my enthusiasm be such as 
befits a citizen of thy polity ; liberal, gentle, 
rational, and humane — not such as to debase 
me into a poor and wretched slave, as if thou 
wert my tyrant, not my Father ; much less 
such as to transform me into a savage beast 
of prey, sullen, gloomy, dark, and fierce, prone 
to persecute, to ravage, and destroy, as if the 
lust of massacre could be grateful to thy 
goodness. Permit me rather madly to avow 
villany in thy defiance, than impiously to as- 
sert it under color of thy service. 

" Turn my mind's eye from every idea of 
this character ; from this servile, abject, hor- 
rid, and ghastly, to the generous, lovely, fair, 
and godlike ! Here let me dwell ; be here 
my study and delight ; so shall I be enabled 
in the silent mirror of contemplation to be- 
hold those forms which are hidden to human 
eyes ; that animating wisdom which pervades 
and rales the whole ; that law irresistible, 
immutable, and supreme, which leads the 
willing, and compels the averse, to co-operate 
in their station to the general welfare ; that 
magic divine, which, by an efficacy past com- 
prehension, can transform every appearance 
the most hideous into beauty, and exhibit all 
things fair and good to Thee, Essence Incre- 
ate, who art of purer eyes than ever to be- 
hold iniquity. 



THE ROVING FISHES. 



101 



" Be these my morning, these my evening 
meditations — with these may my mind be un- 
changeably tinged — that loving Thee with a 
love most disinterested and sincere ; enamor- 
ed of thy polity and thy divine administra- 
tion ; welcoming every event with cheerful- 
ness and magnanimity, as being best upon 
the whole, because ordained of Thee ; pro- 
posing nothing to myself, but with a reserve, 
that Thou permittest ; acquiescing in every 
obstruction, as ultimately referable to thy 
providence — in a word, that making this con- 
duct, by due exercise, into perfect habit, I 
may never murmur, never repine ; never 
miss what I would obtain, nor fall into that 
which I would avoid ; but be happy with 
that transcendent happiness of which no one 
can deprive me, and blest with that divine 
liberty which no tyrant can annoy." 



THE ROVING FISHES. 

If solid happiness we prize, 
Within our breast this jewel lies, 
And they are fools who roam. 
Of rest was Noah's dove bereft, 
When, with impatient wing, she left 
That safe retreat, the ark : 
Giving her vain excursions o'er, 
The disappointed bird once more 
Explored the sacred bark. 

Sophronia, whose maternal tenderness was 
directed by a solid judgment and well-culti- 



102 



THE ROVING FISHES. 



vated understanding, had been repeating 
these lines to her son, and urging the difficul- 
ties, temptations, and dangers which await 
the inexperienced youth, when he too for- 
wardly launches into the busy world. They 
were enjoying an evening's walk, and the 
path which they pursued terminated in a 
beautiful pond, supplied with water by a 
murmuring rill, that for awhile seemed to 
lose its current, but passing oirwards, flowed 
through a concealed grate into a neighboring 
brook. Having reached the margin of the 
pond, they stopped to gaze at the sportive 
fishes, gliding in all directions, with graceful 
ease, through the yielding element. But a 
large tench was observed to remain in one 
unvaried position, as if stupified with pain, 
or overwhelmed with sorrow. 

Were fishes capable of reflection, I should 
presume, said Sophronia, that the tench we 
are looking at is mourning the folly and ca- 
lamities of her offspring. Last week a sud- 
den and unusual swell of the brook raised 
the water of this pond above its level, and 
three young tenches eagerly took the oppor- 
tunity of escaping over the grate, and quitted 
with joy the confinement to which they had 
submitted for some time with impatience and 
discontent. They swam down the stream, 
exulting in their liberty, and were just enter- 
ing a spacious mill-pool, w T hich promised 
every gratification to their boundless wishes, 



THE PASSIONS SHOULD BE GOVERNED. 103 

when a ravenous pike seized upon the fore- 
most, and terrified the others with the appre- 
hension of dangers before unknown. 

The shallows of the pool were now sought 
for security, but the flood having damaged 
the dike, the water rapidly discharged itself. 
One of the remaining tenches was left in a 
hollow, to die a painful and lingering death ; 
the other, impelled by hunger, swallowed a 
bait, and became the prey of a fisherman. 
Thus perished these unfortunate rovers ; af- 
fording us a lesson of instruction, concluded 
Sophronia, which it cannot be necessary 
either to explain or to apply. 

THE PASSIONS SHOULD BE GOVERNED BY REASON. 

Sophron and Alexis had frequently heard 
Euphronius mention the experiment of still- 
ing the waves with oil, made by his friend, Dr. 
Franklin. They were impatient to repeat it, 
and a brisk wind proving favorable to the 
trial, they hastened one evening to a sheet of 
water in the pleasure grounds of Eugenio, 
near Hart-hilL The oil was scattered upon 
the pool, and spread itself instantly on all 
sides, calming the whole surface of the water, 
and reflecting the most beautiful colors. 

Elated with success, the youths returned 
to Euphronius to inquire the cause of such a 
wonderful appearance. He informed them 
that the wind blowing upon water which is 



104 



A FEMALE CHARACTER. 



covered with a coat of oil, slides over the sur 
face of it, and produces no friction that can 
raise a wave. But this curious philosophical 
fact, said he, suggests a most important mor- 
al reflection. When you suffer yourselves 
to be ruffled by passion, your minds resemble 
the puddle in a storm. But reason, if you 
hearken to her voice, will then, like oil pour- 
ed upon the water, calm the turbulence 
within you, and restore you to serenity and 
peace. 



A FEMALE CHARACTER* 

Her kindly melting heart, 
To every want and every wo, 

To guilt itself, when in distress, 

The balm of pity would impart, 
And all relief that bounty could bestow \ 
E'en for the kid or lamb that poured its life 

Beneath the bloody knife, 

Her gentle tears would fall, 
As she the common mother were of all. 

Nor only good, and kind, 
But strong and elevated was her mind ; 
A spirit that, with noble pride, 

Could look superior down 

On Fortune's smile, or frown ; 
That could, without regret or pain, 
To virtue's lowest duty sacrifice, 
Or interest's or ambition's highest prize ; 
That, injured or offended, never tried 
Its dignity by vengeance to maintain, 

But by magnanimous disdain. 



positiveness. 



105 



A wit, that temperately bright, 
With inoffensive light, 
All pleasing shone, nor ever past 
The decent bounds, that Wisdom's sober hand, 
And sweet benevolence's mild command, 
And bashful modesty before it cast. 
A prudence undeceiving, undeceived ; 
That nor too little nor too much believed ; 
That scorned unjust suspicion's coward fear, 
And without weakness knew to be sincere. 

Lokd Lyttleton* 



POSITIVENESS. 

The chameleon is a small quadruped, in 
shape resembling a crocodile, and chiefly 
found in Arabia and Egypt. It is a vulgar 
error that this animal feeds upon air, for his 
stomach is always found to contain flies and 
other insects. Mr. Le Bruyn, during his 
abode at Smyrna, had four chameleons in his 
possession. He never perceived that they 
ate any thing except now and then a fly. 
Their color often changed without ai^y appa- 
rent cause ; but their most durable one was 
gray, or rather a pale mouse-color. Some- 
times the animals were of a beautiful green, 
spotted with yellow ; at other times they 
were marked all over with dark brown ; but 
he never found that they assumed a red color. 
These properties of the chameleon have giv- 
en rise to the following fable, which was 
written by Mr. Merrick, and shows, in a 



.106 TflE CHAMELEON. 

lively and striking manner, the folly of post 
tiveness in opinion. 



THE CHAMELEON. 

Oft has it been my lot to mark 
A proud, conceited, talking spark, 
With eyes, that hardly served at most 
To guard their master 'gainst a post ; 
Yet round the world the blade has been. 
To see whatever could be seen : 
Returning from his finished tour, 
Grown ten times perter than before : 
Whatever word you chance to drop, 
The travelled fool your mouth will stop ; 
" Sir, if my judgment you'll allow— 
Fve seen — and sure I ought to know." 
So begs you'd pay a due submission, 
And acquiesce in his decision. 

Two travellers of such a cast, 
As o'er Arabia's wilds they pass'd, 
And on their way, in friendly chat, 
Now talked of this and then of that, 
Discoursed awhile, 'mongst other mater. 
Of the chameleon's form and nature. 
" A stranger animal," cries one, 
" Sure never lived beneath the sun ; 
A lizard's body lean and long, 
A fish's head, a serpent's tongue, 
Its tooth with triple claw disjoined ; 
And what a length of tail behind ! 
How slow r its pace ! and then its hue ! 
Who ever saw so fine a blue !" 

" Hold there," the other quick replies, 
" 'Tis green — I saw it with these eyes, 



THE CHAMELEON. 



107 



As late with open mouth it lay, 
And warmed it in the sunny ray ; 
Stretched at its ease the beast I viewed, 
And saw it eat the air for food." 

" IVe seen it, sir, as well as you, 
And must again affirm it blue ; 
At leisure I the beast surveyed, 
Extended in the cooling shade." 

u >i*is green, 'tis green, sir, I assure ye." 
" Green !" cries the other in a fury — 
" Why, sir, d'ye think Pve lost my eyes V 9 
44 'Twere no great loss," the friend replies, 
" For if they always serve you thus, 
You'll find them but of little use." 

So high at last the contest rosp, 
From words they almost came to blows ; 
When luckily came by a third — 
To him the question they referred ; 
And begged he'd tell 'em if he knew 
Whether the thing was green or blue. 

" Sirs," cries the umpire, cease your pother— 
The creature's neither one nor t'other. 
I caught the animal last night, 
And viewed it o'er by candlelight ; 
I marked it well— 'twas black as jet. 
You stare — but, sirs, I've got it yet, 

And can produce it" -"Pray, sir, do ; 

I'll lay my life the thing is blue." 

64 And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen 

The reptile, you'll pronounce him green." 

44 Well, then, at once to ease the doubt," 
Replies the man, 44 I'll turn him out ; 



108 THE TRUE ENJOYMENTS OF LIFE. 

And when before your eyes IVe set him. 
If you don't find him black, 111 eat him." 
He said : then full before their sight 
Produced the beast ; and lo I 'twas white. 

THE TRUE ENJOYMENTS OF LIFE. 

May lie survive his relatives and friends ! 
was the imprecation of a Roman, on the per- 
son who should destroy the monument of his 
ancestors. A more dreadful curse could 
scarcely he denounced. I remember to have 
seen it somewhere recorded, that an empe- 
ror of China, on his accession to the throne? 
commanded a general release from the pris- 
ons of all that were confined for debt. Among 
the number was an old man who had been 
an early victim to adversity ; and whose days 
of imprisonment, reckoned by the notches 
which he had cut on the door of his gloomy 
cell, expressed the annual revolution of more 
than fifty suns. With faltering steps, he de- 
parted from his mansion of sorrow ; his eyes 
were dazzled with the splendor of light, and 
the face of nature presented to his view a 
perfect paradise. The jail in which he had 
been imprisoned was at some distance from 
Pekin ; and he directed his course to that 
city, impatient to enjoy the gratulations of 
his wife, his children, and his friends. 

With difficulty he found his way to the 
street in which formerly stood his decent 
habitation ; and his heart became more and 



THE TRUE ENJOYMENTS OF LIFE. 109 

more elated at every step which he advanced. 
He proceeded, and looked with earnestness 
around ; but saw few of those objects with 
which he was formerly conversant. A mag- 
nificent edifice was erected on the site of the 
house which he had inhabited. The dwell- 
ings of his neighbors had assumed new forms, 
and he beheld not a single face of which he 
had the least recollection. An aged pauper 
who stood with trembling knees at the gate 
of a portico, from which he had been thrust 
by the insolent menial who guarded it, struck 
his attention. He stopped to give him a pit- 
tance out of the bounty with which he had 
been supplied by the emperor's liberality ; 
and received in return the sad tidings, that 
his wife had fallen a lingering sacrifice to 
penury and sorrow ; that his children were 
gone to seek their fortunes in unknown climes, 
and that the grave contained his nearest and 
most valuable friends. 

Overwhelmed with anguish, he hastened to 
the palace of his sovereign, into whose pres- 
ence his hoary locks and mournful visage 
soon obtained admission, and casting himself 
at the feet of the emperor, " Great prince,'* 
he cried, " remand me to the prison from 
which mistaken mercy hath delivered me ! I 
have survived my family and friends ; and in 
the midst of this populous city, I find myself 
in dreary solitude. The cell of my dungeoB 
protected me from the gazers at my wretch- 
10 



110 THE TRUE ENJOYMENTS OF LIFE. 

edness ; and while secluded from society, I 
was less sensible of the loss of social enjoy- 
ments. I am now tortured with the view of 
pleasures in which I cannot participate ; and 
die with thirst, though streams of delight sur- 
round me. 

If the horrors of a dungeon, my Alexis, be 
preferred to the world at large, by the man 
who is bereft of his kindred and friends, how 
highly should you prize, how tenderly should 
you love, and how studious should you be to 
please those near and dear relations, whom a 
more indulgent Providence has yet preserved 
to you ! Listen to the affectionate counsels 
of your parents ; treasure up their precepts ; 
respect their riper judgment ; and enjoy with 
gratitude and delight the advantages resulting 
from their society. Bind to your bosom by the 
most endearing ties your brothers and sisters ; 
cherish them as your best companions through 
the variegated journey of life ; and suffer no 
jealousies or feuds to interrupt the harmony 
which now reigns, and, I trust, will ever reign 
in this happy family. Cultivate the friend- 
ship of your father's friends ; merit the ap- 
probation of the wise and good ; qualify your- 
self, by the acquisition of knowledge and the 
exercise of the benevolent affections, for the 
intercourse of mankind ; and you will at once 
be an ornament to society, and derive from 
it the highest felicity. 



VIRTUOUS FRIENDSHIP. 



Ill 



PERPETUITY OF VIRTUOUS FRIENDSHIP. 

Emilia had been slightly indisposed for 
several days, but not in such a manner as to 
confine her from the cheerful society of her 
brothers and sisters. While she was standing 
in the midst of them, a fainting fit suddenly 
overpowered her, and she fell down, as it 
were, lifeless on the floor. She was soon re- 
covered by the tender offices of Sophronia ; 
but the affecting image of death which the 
children had seen, continued for some time to 
oppress their minds with sorrow and terror. 

Alexis in the evening accompanied his fa- 
ther into the fields. The path which they 
pursued led them to the banks of the Irwell ; 
where they stopped to contemplate its wind- 
ing stream and checkered sides. The stump 
of a tree, overshadowed by a neighboring 
oak, afforded them a comfortable seat ; and 
Euphronius began to expatiate on the wis- 
dom and goodness of Providence, in water- 
ing the earth with rivers, which flow into the 
sea, and are again returned in fertilizing 
showers. Alexis made no reply ; and Eu- 
phronius observing that he was lost in thought, 
inquired what subject so deeply engaged his 
attention. 

The youth said, with a sigh, I have been 
early taught to see, admire, and reverence 
the Deity in all his works ; but more particu- 



112 PERPETUITY OF VIRTUOUS FRIENDSHIP. 

larly in the structure of man, in his present 
enjoyments and future expectations. The 
moral affections you have cultivated in my 
heart with assiduous care, and I have fondly 
believed that the exercise of them will con- 
stitute my chief felicity through all eternity. 
Oh that the pleasing delusion had been still 
continued ! This morning I was shocked 
with the apparent death of my beloved Emi- 
lia ; but it was some consolation to my mind, 
that we should hereafter meet again, renew 
our fond regard, and forever live together in 
the same endearing connection which now 
subsists between us. In this hope, it seems, 
I was miserably mistaken. A learned divine, 
whose works I have just been reading, asserts 
with confidence that in heaven the virtuous 
of all ages, past, present, and to come, will 
dwell together, as in one universal family, 
without personal partialities or distinction. 

The doctrine, I trust, is false, replied Eu- 
phronius with some emotion ; for heaven,, 
methinks, would not be such to me, if it were 
true. But I correct myself, Alexis: on a sub- 
ject of such uncertainty, we should speak 
with an awful reliance on that great Being 
who perfectly knows our frame, and what 
will best promote our happiness. With such 
sentiments of reverence, let us pursue the in- 
teresting theme ; and inquire whether reason 
and revelation do not justify the hope that 
we shall hereafter be united to our virtuous 



PERPETUITY OF VIRTUOUS FRIENDSHIP. 113 

relations and friends ; and enjoy, with in- 
creasing delight, all those tender attach- 
ments, which, in the present state, sweeten 
both social and domestic life. 

One of the strongest arguments for the fu- 
ture existence of the soul, derived from the 
light of nature, is the dread which we feel of 
annihilation, and our ardent desires after im- 
mortality. Have we not the like anxiety to 
be again restored, in happier regions, to those 
whom in this world we have known, esteem- 
ed, and loved? The human understanding 
seems to be formed for endless improvement. 
The faculty of comprehension is daily enlarg- 
ed, till the animal machine, having acquired 
its full vigor, suffers the gradual decays of 
age ; and as the Deity has created nothing in 
vain, capacity may be supposed to imply at- 
tainment, in some other stage of our exist- 
ence- 

But shall we grant to our intellectual, a 
privilege which we deny to our moral pow- 
ers ; or exclude from future growth and cul- 
tivation the noblest and most important en- 
dowments of the mind ? The principle of 
benevolence is neither inconsistent with the 
partialities of friendship, nor with the en- 
dearments of family love ; but rather origi- 
nates from them, like circles on the water, 
widening as they flow from one common 
centre. Nor will the filial, parental, or fra- 
ternal charities damp the fervor of our piety 
10* 



114 PERPETUITY OF VIRTUOUS FRIENDSHIP. 

to the Father of the universe ; or abate our 
gratitude to the great Bond of our union, and 
the Author of our dearest enjoyments. 

The present life is, indeed, only the com- 
mencement of those improvements in know- 
ledge and goodness, which we shall progres- 
sively make through all eternity. And as 
our kindred and friends are, in a peculiar 
manner, the companions of our journey here, 
and the objects of our most virtuous affec= 
tions, is it not probable that they will con- - 
tinue to be such hereafter, and that we shall 
not only find them our crown of rejoicing, 
but that it will be our divinest pleasure to 
promote the advancement of each other in 
piety, glory, and felicity? The Scriptures 
speak not explicitly concerning this interest- 
ing point ; but there are a variety of pas- 
sages in the New Testament which evident- 
ly imply that good men " will be happy here- 
after in the same seats of joy ; will live un- 
der the same perfect government, and be 
members of the same heavenly society. Will 
not then our nearest relations be accessible 
to us ? And if accessible, shall we not fly to 
them, and mingle our hearts and souls again V* 

Thus it appears that the pleasing idea of 
a reunion with our virtuous relations and 
friends, in the future life, is agreeable to the 
natural expectations of mankind ; necessary 
to the exercise of our most distinguished 
moral powers, and favorable to every senti- 



PPJDE AND PEDANTRY. 



115 



ment of gratitude, devotion, and piety. Re- 
velation seems also to confirm what reason 
so much approves ; and I hope, my dear Alexis, 
your mind is now no longer disquieted with 
despondency or fear. Indulge the generous 
affections of your heart ; cherish the filial 
and fraternal love with which it glows ; cul- 
tivate the valuable friendships you have 
formed, and be assured that what constitutes 
your present, will heighten your future feli- 
city. 

But remember that your union in the heav- 
enly world can only be with the worthy and 
the good, and be cautious to form no close 
attachments, but such as will merit perpe- 
tuity. If death snatch from you a beloved 
friend, while you lament the loss, sorrow not 
as one without hope or consolation. The sep- 
aration, however painful, will be but for a 
season ; and you will have a kindred spirit 
in the regions of bliss, to welcome your arri- 
val there, and to conduct you into the glori- 
ous presence of the Sovereign of the uni- 
verse. 



PRIDE AND PEDANTRY. 

Julius returned from Cambridge elated with 
certain academical honors which had been 
conferred upon him. He had anticipated in 
his imagination the joy with which he should 
inspire his parents, the congratulations of his 



116 



PRIDE AND PEDANTRY. 



friends, and the respect and deference which 
would be shown him by all his former com- 
panions. Full of such ideal importance, he 
received the compliments of those who came 
to visit him, with haughty civility and morti- 
fying condescension. Instead of obliging in- 
quiries concerning their families or connec- 
tions, he talked to them only of himself, or of 
his college acquaintance, and eagerly seized 
every opportunity of displaying the superiority 
of his knowledge, and the estimation in which 
he was held by the professors, and by fellow- 
commoners of the highest rank. His vanity 
and ostentation soon excited universal disgust ; 
and his pertness and passion for disputing in- 
volved him in numberless quarrels. 

Whatever opinion was advanced, he imme- 
diately controverted it ; and by puzzling his 
antagonist with definitions and logical dis- 
tinctions, he seldom failed to obtain a victory, 
and to create an enemy. He had unfortunately 
adopted that system of skeptical philosophy 
which denies existence to matter ; and he 
strenuously maintained that all external ob- 
jects are only things perceived by sense : and 
what do we perceive, said he, but our own 
ideas and sensations? What are light and 
colors, heat and cold, extension and figure, 
but so many sensations, ideas, or mental im- 
pressions ? It is impossible, even in thought, 
to separate these from perception ; and no 
truth can be more self-evident than that all 



PRIDE AND PEDANTRY. 



117 



the forms of body are mere phantasms, and 
have their existence in the mind alone.* 

By the frequent and unseasonable introduc- 
tion of these opinions, so contradictory to the 
common sense and conviction of mankind, he 
damped the pleasures of social intercourse, 
and became burdensome to the whole circle 
of his father's friends. It happened in the 
month of January, that he was invited to dine, 
with many other gentlemen, at the house of 
Sempronius, who resided in the country. The 
day was intensely cold, and the ground was 
covered with snow. Julius, as he rode along, 
soon entered upon his favorite topic with the 
companions of his visit, and ridiculed them for 
shivering at what he had proved to be only a 
conceit of their own minds. While he was 
laughing at their folly, his horse plunged into 
a deep drift, and overwhelmed himself and 
his rider with snow. 

Julius, terrified with the accident, called 
aloud for assistance, but his fellow travellers 
were for some time deaf to his entreaties. 
They retorted his jokes, and would not at- 
tempt to extricate him, till he was starved 
into a confession of the reality of cold. The 
snow had penetrated his clothes, and his 
boots were filled with water : he therefore 
hastened forward to the house of Sempronius, 
where having changed his garments, and be- 
ing seated at the table, near a glowing fire, 
* See Bishop Berkely and Mr. Hume. 



118 PRIDE AND PEDAXTRY. 

he soon banished all recollection of his late 
misfortune. 

The entertainment was plentiful and ele- 
gant, and the guests found their appetites 
sharpened by the weather, and the ride which 
they had taken. Julius was exceedingly hun- 
gry, and was beginning to fall voraciously 
upon a slice of beef, to which he had been 
helped, when his servant called off his atten- 
tion, by a message that he delivered to him. 
His face being turned aside from the table, 
the gentleman on his right hand conveyed 
away the piece of beef, and appropriated it to 
his own use. Julius now resumed with eager- 
ness his knife and fork, but finding his plate 
empty, he complained in bitter terms of the 
depredation which had been committed. The 
feast was suspended, and all who were pres- 
ent rejoiced in the disappointment of Julius. 
They urged to him, that eating was an ideal 
pleasure, and that spirit can require no susten- 
ance. 

Sempronius, however, politely restrained 
the general mirth on this occasion, because it 
was enjoyed at the expense of an individual 
who had a claim to his good offices and pro- 
tection ; and he sent him a fresh supply of 
beef. When the cravings of nature were sat- 
isfied, Julius began to feel that he was seated 
too near the fire ; he durst not, however, ex- 
press his uneasiness, lest he should draw upon 
himself some new mortification. But the heat 



PRIDE AND PEDANTRY. 



119 



at length became intolerable, and he started 
up from his seat, exclaiming that he should 
be burnt to death. 

Vain, however, was the attempt to change 
his situation. The chair in which he had been 
sitting was closely wedged by the two con- 
tiguous ones, and he stood a laughing stock 
for the whole company. Fire has no ivarmth 
in it, said one to him ; look through the win- 
dows, said another, and the snow which you 
behold on the distant hills will correct your 
perception of heat, by the contrary perception 
of cold! Julius could no longer endure the 
raillery which was poured upon him. He 
forcibly pushed back his chair, and took his 
leave of the company, by assuring them, that 
for the future it should be his maxim to think 
with the wise, and talk with the vulgar. 

Julius had acquired great credit at Cam- 
bridge by his compositions. They were ele- 
gant, animated, and judicious ; and several 
prizes at different times had been adjudged to 
him. An oration which he delivered the 
week before he left the university, had been 
honored with particular applause ; and on his 
return home, he was impatient to gratify his 
vanity, and to extend his reputation, by hav- 
ing it read to a number of his father's literary 
friends. A party was therefore collected, and 
after dinner the manuscript was produced. 
Julius declined the office of reader, because 
he had contracted a hoarseness on his jour- 



120 



PRIDE AND PEDANTRY. 



ney ; and a conceited young man with great 
forwardness offered his services. 

While he was settling himself on his seat, 
licking his lips, adjusting his mouth, hawking, 
hemming, and making other ridiculous pre- 
parations for the performance which he had 
undertaken, a profound silence reigned through 
the company, the united effect of attention and 
expectation. Alexis, whom Euphronius had 
carried with him to this entertainment, em- 
ployed the present interval in watching the 
countenance of Julius ; and he sympathized 
in the anxiety which he saw expressed in 
every feature of his face. The reader at 
length began ; but his tone of voice was so 
shrill and dissonant, his utterance so vehe- 
ment, his pronunciation so affected, his em- 
phasis so injudicious, and his accents were so 
improperly placed, that good manners alone 
restrained the laughter of the audience. 

Julius was all this while upon the rack; 
and his arm was more than once extended to 
snatch his composition from the coxcomb who 
delivered it. But he proceeded, with full con- 
fidence in his own elocution, uniformly over- 
stepping, as Shakspeare expresses it, the mo- 
desty of nature. 

" With studied improprieties of speech, 
He soars beyond the hackney critic's reach ; 
To epithets allots emphatic state, 
Whilst principals ungraced like lacquies wait. 
Conjunction, preposition, adverb join, 
To stamp new vigor on the nervous line. 



PRIDE AND PEDANTRY. 



121 



In monosyllables his thunders roll ; 

He, she, it, and, we, ye, they, fright the soul." 

Churchill. 

When the oration was concluded, the gen- 
tlemen returned their thanks to the author ; 
but the compliments which they paid him 
were more expressive of politeness and civil- 
ity than of a conviction of his merit. Indeed 
the beauties of his composition had been con- 
verted, by bad reading, into blemishes, and 
the sense of it rendered obscure and even un- 
intelligible. Julius and his father could not 
conceal their vexation and disappointment : 
and the guests perceiving that they laid them 
under a painful restraint, withdrew as soon 
as decency permitted to their respective hab- 
itations. 

The poet has observed, that 

" Of all the conquests which vain mortals boast, 
By wit, by valor, or by wisdom won, 
The first and fairest in a young man's eye 
Is woman's captive heart." 

Julius panted for such a victory; he be- 
lieved himself to be the object of the ladies' 
admiration ; but was ambitious to be distin- 
guished by their love. And he offered his ar- 
dent vows at the shrine of every fair damsel 
with whom he conversed. Daphne, however, 
was the haughty maiden whom he wished 
most to subdue. Against her heart he direct- 
ed all the amorous artillery of ancient lore ; 
and he wooed her, not as a Venus or Minerva, 
11 



122 



PRIDE AND PEDANTRY. 



but as a divinity, who united in her single 
person the graces and attributes of each 
nymph and goddess in the heathen mythology. 
But as the ideas of beauty are varied by time, 
caprice, and fashion, his classical compliments 
were not always acceptable. 

Thus, when he ascribed to her the coldness 
of Vesta, and the chastity of Diana, she hung 
down her head in bashful confusion ; but 
when in the poetical language of Homer, 
Horace, Ovid, and Tibullus, he praised her 
oxen eyes, bushy eyebrows, golden tresses, and 
plump bosom, she received with disdain the 
incense of flattery, which was formerly so 
grateful to the ladies of antiquity. For she 
had taken infinite pains to pluck her eye- 
brows, to change from red to auburn the color 
of her hair, and to contract her bulk by the 
trammels of whalebone. 

Julius, in reality, was not the favorite of 
Daphne. Modesty, gentleness, and simplicity 
of manners, were charms that he wanted, to 
render him agreeable : and her heart had been 
long in the possession of a youth who under- 
valued a prize which he had too easily ob- 
tained. To fix her roving lover, by alarming 
his fears, and rousing his jealousy, she listened 
with apparent approbation to the addresses 
of Julius ; and his boasting soon insured the 
success of her stratagem. As he was hasten- 
ing to her house one morning with an ode to 
beauty, which he had just written in imita- 



HONEST POVERTY AND BENEFICENCE. 123 

tion of Anacreon, he saw her at a distance, 
passing out of a private door of the church, 
habited in white, and accompanied by his 
rival in the dress of a bridegroom. As one 
thunder-struck, he stood appalled and motion- 
less, till recovered to his senses by the deliv- 
ery of the following billet : " Daphne, per- 
suaded that Julius courted himself, and not 
her, leaves him in the full enjoyment of his 
mistress, who will remain with constancy the 
dear object of his vanity, admiration, and 
love." 

Such were the varied mortifications which 
Julius suffered. By degrees, however, they 
produced the most salutary effects upon his 
mind ; correcting his arrogance, humbling his 
pride, and teaching him the art of self-gov- 
ernment. Experience convinced him that 
learning is only respected, when it is rather 
concealed than ostentatiously displayed ; that 
superiority, when assumed, is seldom admit- 
ted, and generally rejected with scorn ; and 
that to make others pleased with us, we must 
endeavor, by attention and proper deference, 
to render them satisfied and pleased with 
themselves. 



HONEST POVERTY AND BENEFICENCE. 

The emperor of Germany, walking one day 
in the streets of Vienna, dressed as a private 
individual, met a young girl who appeared in 



124 HONEST POVERTY AND BENEFICENCE. 

great distress, and who carried a packet un- 
der her arm. " Where are you going ?" said 
the emperor to her. " What have you in that 
bundle? Can I not assist in calming your 
grief?" 

" These," said the young girl, opening her 
bundle, " are the clothes of my mother : alas, 
sir, they are our last resource. I am hasten- 
ing to dispose of them to procure food for our 
family. If we had received the pay of our 
poor father, who was killed in the service of 
the emperor, we would not have been reduced 
to this sad necessity." 

" And why have you not applied at court ?" 
said the other : " you should have stated your 
case upon paper, and sent it to the sovereign, 
when he doubtless would have relieved you." 

" All this has been done, sir ; but the lord 
who undertook to befriend us, said that noth- 
ing could be obtained, and that it was useless 
to renew our application." 

" There must have been some sad mistake," 
answered the emperor, concealing the morti- 
fication which the story caused him. " I am 
sure that the emperor has never seen your 
petition ; because he is too just to allow the 
widow and children of an officer, who perish- 
ed in his service, to want the comforts of life. 
Draw up another petition, and bring it to the 
castle to-morrow morning ; when, if I find 
that what you have stated is true, you shall 
see the emperor, and I have no doubt that 



HONEST POVERTY AND BENEFICENCE. 125 

you will obtain what you require. But in the 
mean time you must not sell your mother's 
clothes. How much did you expect to receive 
for them?" 

" Six ducats," replied the astonished female. 

" Here are ten," said the other, " which I 
will lend you until you can repay me out of 
the pension, which I am in hopes we will, to- 
gether, be able to procure on your visit to 
court." 

The emperor turned away, and the delight- 
ed daughter flew back to her mother with the 
ten ducats and the bundle of clothes. 

After describing to her relations the person 
and manners of the stranger, they at once re- 
cognised the emperor, and became excessively 
alarmed at the consequences which they 
thought would ensue from the freedom with 
which his apparent injustice had been men- 
tioned. The young girl refused to go to 
court, and was at last taken, almost by force, 
on the following morning, to the appointed 
place. 

On the appearance of the emperor she re- 
cognised in him the person of her benefactor, 
and fainted. The emperor assisted in the 
kindest manner in recovering her ; and, when 
she became again sensible, said to her — 
" Here, my youg friend, is the grant of a pen- 
sion for your mother, equal to the full pay of 
your father, with the reversion of one half of 
it to you, should you be so unfortunate as to 
11* 



126 INTEGRITY ? AND ITS REWARD. 

lose her. Could I have learned sooner your 
situation, I should have been able sooner to 
have relieved it. Hereafter, that none may 
have cause to complain, I will set aside one 
day in each week to receive the personal ap- 
plications of my subjects." 



INTEGRITY, AND ITS REWARD. 

After the well-contested action of Stono, 
during the revolution, an American lieuten- 
ant, passing over the field of battle, saw a 
British officer dangerously wounded, and una- 
ble to move. The latter, on seeing the Amer- 
ican, besought him in the most moving accents 
for a draught of water to allay the burning 
thirst which was consuming him. There was 
no refusing such a request, even had the 
American felt inclined to do so ; he procured 
the water therefore, and stooping down, held 
it to the parched lips of the sufferer. The 
Englishman drank, and then drawing an ele- 
gant and valuable watch from his pocket, 
presented it to the other. 

" Take it, sir," he said ; " 'tis yours by con- 
quest, and your generous behavior still fur- 
ther entitles you to possess it." 

" I came into the field to fight, and not to 
plunder," was the answer : " it gives me 
pleasure to have rendered you a service, and 
I ask no other recompense." 

" Keep it for me then, in trust," rejoined the 



TEE POOR WIDOW OF JAPAN. 



127 



officer, " till we meet again ; for if left in my 
hands, it may be wrested from me by some ma- 
rauder, who to secure silence may inflict death." 

" I will take it on these terms only," said 
the American, " that you shall receive it when 
I meet with an opportunity to return it." 

Many were the chances of war against the 
second meeting, and the Englishman had al- 
most forgotten the circumstance, and had en- 
tirely given up all hopes of recovering his 
property, when a package was presented to 
him, which, on opening, he found to contain 
his watch, which the American had taken 
advantage of a flag of truce, to return unin- 
jured to its owner. 



THE POOR WIDOW OP JAPAN. 

There was a widow in Japan who was left, 
by the death of her husband, extremely poor, 
and depending for support upon the exertions 
of three sons. For some time the produce of 
their labor was sufficient, with the greatest 
economy, for the scanty support of the family. 
At times, however, the want of employment 
would cause great distress to the widow and 
her sons, and they would remain without food 
for some days, until accident gave the means 
of obtaining it. 

In this situation they lived for some time ; 
but at last, not being able to endure the sight 
of their mother's want, the sons determined 



128 THE POOR WIDOW OF JAP AX. 

to relieve it, at the expense of their lives. 
A large reward was offered for the discovery 
of a robber, who, it was supposed, had secreted 
himself in their neighborhood. The three 
brothers determined that one of them should 
pretend to be the criminal, and the others, by 
delivering him to the judge, receive the prom- 
ised reward, and relieve with it the necessi- 
ties of their mother. They accordingly drew 
lots to ascertain the sufferer, and chance de- 
cided upon the youngest. 

With the greatest satisfaction he submitted 
to his fate, and was conducted by the other 
two before the criminal tribunal, where, after 
confessing the robbery, he was committed to 
prison, and the brothers received the reward. 
They had borne, without a murmur, the re- 
marks and reproaches of the crowd on their 
fancied inhumanity ; but the feelings of na- 
ture were strong within them, and before they 
returned home they begged and obtained per- 
mission to visit their brother in his cell. Here 
they embraced him with bitter tears, and be- 
sought him to forgive the part which misery 
had forced them to take in the transaction. 
He consoled them in their grief, bid them not 
care for him, but hasten to relieve their 
mother, and bring him news that she was no 
longer in want before he died. 

The jailer had, unseen, watched the inter- 
view, and, struck with its singularity, he has- 
tened, on the departure of the two brothers, to 



THE POOR WIDOW OF JAPAN. 



129 



communicate it to the judge. This last, per- 
ceiving that there was a mystery which he 
could not comprehend, commanded the exe- 
cution to be postponed, and directed a ser- 
vant, on whom he could rely, to follow the 
brothers, and not to lose sight of them until 
he had found a clue to their conduct. The 
servant followed them to their mother's house, 
and saw them when they related to her the 
act which they had committed, and showed 
her the money which had rewarded them. 
The unhappy woman was struck speechless 
with grief; she pushed the gold from her ; 
and at last, with violent cries, besought them 
to restore her child, and let them perish to- 
gether of hunger, rather than that she should 
live on the price of his blood. 

The servant had now seen enough, and he 
returned to the judge, who immediately sent 
for the supposed robber, and questioned him 
closely as to the truth of what the servant had 
related, as the cause of his present imprison- 
ment. The third brother denied it most stren- 
uously, insisting that he was guilty, and should 
suffer ; and it was only when the others ap- 
peared and confessed the fact and their mo- 
tives, that he was silent. 

The judge, deeply affected by the filial 
piety of all three, bestowed upon them large 
presents, freed the youngest from prison, and 
took good care that the widow and her sons 
should never again feel the pressure of want. 



130 



TRUE PLEASURE. 



WHAT IS TRUE PLEASURE 1 

The man whose heart is replete with pure 
and unaffected piety, who looks upon the 
great Creator of the universe in that just and 
amiable light, which all his works reflect up- 
on him, cannot fail of tasting the sublimest 
pleasure, in contemplating the stupendous 
and innumerable effects of his infinite good- 
ness. 

Whether he looks abroad on the moral or 
natural world, his reflections must still be at- 
tended with delight ; and the sense of his 
own unworthiness, so far from lessening, will 
increase his pleasure, while it places the for- 
bearing kindness and indulgence of his 
Creator in a still more interesting point of 
view. 

Here his mind may dwell upon the present, 
look back to the past, or stretch forward into 
futurity, with equal satisfaction ; and the 
more he indulges contemplation, the higher 
will his delight arise. Such a disposition as 
this seems to be the most secure foundation on 
which the fabric of true pleasure can be built. 

Next to the veneration of the Supreme 
Being, the love of human kind seems to be 
the most promising source of pleasure. It is 
a never failing one to him, who, possessed of 
this principle, enjoys all the power of indulg- 
ing his benevolence ; who makes the superi- 
ority of his fortune, his knowledge, or his 



THE CLOSE OF LIFE. 



131 



power, subservient to the wants of his fellow- 
creatures. 

It is true, there are few whose power or 
fortune is so adequate to the wants of man- 
kind, as to render them capable of perform- 
ing acts of universal beneficence ; but a spirit 
of universal benevolence may be possessed 
by all : the bounteous Author of nature has 
not proportioned the pleasure to the great- 
ness of the effect, but to the greatness of 
the cause. 

The contemplation of the beauties of the 
universe, the cordial enjoyments of friendship, 
the tender delights of love, and the rational 
pleasures of religion, are open to all mankind ; 
and each of them seems capable of giving 
real happiness. 



THE CLOSE OF LIFE. 

When we contemplate the close of life, the 
termination of man's designs and hopes, the 
silence that now reigns among those who a 
little while ago were so busy or so gay ; who 
can avoid being touched with sensations at 
once awful and tender ? what heart but then 
warms with the glow of humanity ? in whose 
eye doth not the tear gather on revolving the 
fate of passing and short-lived man ? 

Behold the poor man who lays down at 
last the burden of his wearisome life. No 
more shall he groan under the load of poverty 



132 



THE CLOSE OF LIFE. 



and toil. No more shall he hear the insolent 
calls of the master from whom he received 
his scanty wages. No more shall he be 
raised from needful slumber on his bed ot 
straw, nor be hurried away from his homely 
meal, to undergo the repeated labors of the 
day. 

While his humble grave is preparing, ana 
a few poor and decayed neighbors are carry- 
ing him thither, it is good for us to think that 
this man too was our brother ; that for him 
the aged and destitute wife and the needy 
children now weep ; that, neglected as he 
was by the world, he possessed, perhaps, both 
a sound understanding and a worthy heart ; 
and is now carried by angels to rest in Abra- 
ham's bosom. 

At no great distance from him, the grave 
is opened to receive the rich and proud man. 
For, as it is said with emphasis in the para- 
ble, " the rich man also died and was buried." 
He also died. His riches prevented not his 
sharing the same fate with the poor man ; 
perhaps, through luxury, they accelerated his 
doom. Then, indeed, " the mourners go about 
the streets ;" and while, in all the pomp and 
magnificence of wo, his funeral is preparing, 
his heirs, impatient to examine his will, are 
looking one on another with jealous eyes, and 
are already beginning to dispute about the 
division of his substance. 

One day we see carried along the coffin of 



THE CLOSE OF LIFE. 



133 



the smiling infant ; the flower just nipped as 
it began to blossom in its parents' view ; and 
the next day we behold the young man, or 
young woman, of blooming form and promis- 
ing hopes, laid in an untimely grave. While 
the funeral is attended by a numerous un- 
concerned company, who are discoursing to 
one another about the news of the day, or the 
ordinary affairs of life, let our thoughts rather 
follow to the house of mourning, and repre- 
sent to themselves what is passing there. 
There we should see a disconsolate family 
sitting in silent grief, thinking of the sad 
breach that is made in their little society; 
and, with tears in their eys, looking to the 
chamber that is now left vacant, and to every 
memorial that presents itself of their departed 
friend. By such attention to the woes of 
others, the selfish hardness of our hearts will 
be gradually softened, and melted down into 
humanity. 

Another day we follow to the grave one 
who, in old age, and after a long career of 
life, has, in full maturity, sunk at last into 
rest. As we are going along to the mansion 
of the dead, it is natural for us to think and 
to discourse of all the changes which such a 
person has seen during the course of his life. 
He has passed, it is likely, through varieties 
of fortune. He has experienced prosperity 
and adversity. He has seen families and 
kindreds rise and fall. He has seen peace 
12 



134 



BEWARE OF DRUNKENNESS. 



and war succeed in their turns; the face of 
his country undergoing many alterations, and 
the very city in which he dwelt rising, in a 
manner, new around him. 

After all he has beheld, his eyes are now 
closed forever. He was becoming a stranger 
in the midst of a new succession of men. A 
race who knew him not had risen to fill the 
earth. Thus passes the world away. Through- 
out all ranks and conditions, " one generation 
passeth, and another generation cometh," and 
this great inn is by turns evacuated and re- 
plenished by troops of succeeding pilgrims. 

O vain and inconstant world ! O fleeting 
and transient life ! When will the sons of 
men learn to think of thee as they ought? 
When will they learn humanity from the af- 
flictions of their brethren ; or moderation and 
wisdom from the sense of their own fugitive 
state ? 



BEWARE OF DRUNKENNESS. 

If by an awful visitation of divine Provi- 
dence, there were spreading over all parts 
of this country a foul and loathsome leprosy, 
which poisoned and disfigured the bodies of 
its victims, and affected their minds with mad- 
ness and idiotism ; if this leprosy had seiz- 
ed a great part of our useful laborers and 
rendered them a burden to community ; if 
the prospects and the hopes of a large portion 



4 



BEWARE OF DRUNKENNESS. 135 

of our promising young men had been already 
blasted and destroyed by it ; if it had infect- 
ed, more or less, every town and village, and 
were spreading its ravages from year to year, 
wider and yet wider ; if this were the actual 
condition of our country, there is no telling 
how great would be the alarm. 

But, heaven be praised, neither this nor any 
similar calamity has been brought upon our 
country by the direct hand of Providence, 
which has showered on us blessings without 
number, and in geat abundance. But human 
folly and wickedness abuse the kindness of 
Providence, and change its blessings into 
curses. 

Let sober reason judge whether drunken- 
ness, habitual drunkenness, be not as bad as 
the fatal leprosy described ; nay, even worse. 
It impairs and corrupts both body and mind, 
and brings down the noble creature man to 
a level with the brute. It destroys all moral 
principle, all sentiments of honor, and all 
feelings of humanity. It changes good-na- 
ture to churlishness, a kind husband to an un- 
feeling monster, a dutiful son to an unprin- 
cipled villain without natural affections, and 
an industrious thriving man to an idle vaga- 
bond. 

It preys upon and devours every thing that 
is estimable and amiable, both in dispo- 
sition and character. It eats up the sub- 
stance of its votaries, and is an inlet to all 



136 BEWARE OF DRUNKENNESS. 

other vices, and to almost every evil and ca- 
lamity that can be named. This detestable 
demon might say in truth, " my name is le- 
gion, for we are many." Many indeed are 
the evils, the calamities and abominations 
that follow in the train of drunkenness. 

Who hath wo ? Who hath sorrow ? Who 
hath contentions ? Who hath wounds without 
cause? The drunkard. Whose fields are 
neglected and overgrown with thorns and 
brambles ? Whose house is tumbling into 
ruins for want of necessary repairs ? Whose 
wife is consumed with weeping ? Whose 
babes are suffering hunger and nakedness? 
The drunkard's. 

Who disturb people's repose with their 
midnight revellings and yells ? Who are the 
persons most commonly engaged in quarrels, 
in fightings, in riots, and in all scenes of con- 
fusion and uproar ? Drunkards. Who are the 
lowest of all madmen, the most despicable of 
all idiots ? Drunkards. 

The natural idiot and madman, who have 
become so by the act of God, are objects, not 
of reproach, but of compassion. But the 
drunkard, who is in fact an idiot or a mad- 
man for the time, is so by his own voluntary 
act ; he wilfully quenches in himself the 
lamp of reason, and with his own suicidal 
hands destroys that noble faculty which dis- 
tinguished him from the beasts that per- 
ish. 



A BATTLE. 



137 



DESCRIPTION OF A BATTLE. 

A free man takes a musket on his shoulder, 
and fixes on it the murderous bayonet ; he 
leaves his habitation, the ploughman quits his 
plough, the handicraftsman his workshop, the 
young man deserts the hymeneal altar, a be- 
loved son abandons an infirm father and an 
afflicted family : they go to swell the crowd 
of combatants, whose hearts are gradually 
opened to licentiousness, ferocity, and vio- 
lence. 

Here are a hundred thousand opposed to 
as many of the opposite party ; they draw 
near each other in a vast plain which will 
soon be covered with blood. What a pro- 
digious number of men compacted against 
each other, spreading their moving phalanx, 
and ranged in combined order to put each 
other to death ! 

Blind instruments silently await the signal ; 
fierce through duty, they are ready to destroy 
their fellow-creatures without resentment or 
anger. The majestic sun rises, whose setting 
so many unhappy wretches will never behold. 
The earth is covered with verdure ; mild 
Spring with her azure veil embraces the air ; 
nature smiles as a tender mother ; the glori- 
ous sun diffuses his beneficent rays, which 
gild and mature the gifts of the Creator : all 
is calm, all is harmony in the universe. 

Wretched mortals alone, agitated with 
12* 



138 DESCRIPTION OF A BATTLE. 



gloomy phrensy, carry rage in their bosoms ; 
they meet to slaughter each other on the ver- 
dant field. The armies approach ; the prom- 
ised harvest is trodden under foot — death flies. 
What a horrible tumult ! All nature groans 
in an instant with the fury of man. 

Hear the thundering noise of those horrible 
instruments of human revenge ! Emulous 
of, and more terrible than the thunder, with 
their roar they drown the plaintive groans of 
the dying ; they repel soft pity, wishing to 
make a passage into the heart ; a cloud of 
smoke from gunpowder arises towards the 
heavens, as if to hide a collection of such hor- 
rors. 

Alas ! who would have expected such a 
slaughter ? Tigers, bears, and lions, impelled 
with voracious hunger, are not inspired with 
such atrocious cruelty. Behold these rivulets 
of blood ! Here twenty thousand men are 
sacrificed to the caprice of one ; behold them 
fall one upon another, nameless, unthought 
of, unregretted, into oblivion ! 

Thus perish these unhappy mortals. The 
skies resound with their lamentations; 
trampled on by horses, by their countrymen 
whom they vainly implore, they expire a 
thousand different ways in the most horrible 
agonies. Others, yet more to be pitied, pre- 
serving a remnant of life, and consumed by 
thirst, the most intolerable of all torments, 
cannot yet die ; while others, forgetting death, 



TRUST IN DIVINE PROVIDENCE. 139 

surround them, fall furiously on their muti- 
lated comrades, and, without compassion or 
pity to their wounds, unmercifully strip their 
mangled, trembling limbs. 

Oh, Creator of the world ! is this man ? 
this the august creature endowed with a 
feeling heart, and with that noble counte- 
nance that smiles erect towards heaven, who 
has such conceptions, who cherishes the soft 
emotions of pity and generous transports of 
benevolence, who can admire virtue and 
greatness, and can weep with sensibility ? 

Is it his hand that can erect the standard 
of victory on heaps of carcasses, with an odi- 
ous, triumphant joy? Where is the victory? 
I see nothing but tears and blood. Where is 
the triumph ? Plunder does not enrich ; the 
tears of mankind will never make an individ- 
ual happy ; for what ambition sweeps in its un- 
bridled career fleets from the usurper's hand. 

TRUST IN DIVINE PROVIDENCE. 

The providence of God is over all his works ; 
he rules and directs with infinite wisdom. 
He has instituted laws for the government of 
the world, and has wonderfully adapted them 
to the nature of all beings. In the depths of 
his mind he revolves all knowledge ; the se- 
crets of futurity lie open before him. The 
thoughts of thy heart are naked to his view, 
he knows thy determinations before they are 



140 TRUST EST DIVINE PROVIDENCE. 

made. Wonderful he is in all his ways ; his 
counsels are unsearchable ; the manner of his 
knowledge surpasses thy conception. Pay, 
therefore, to his wisdom all honor and vener- 
ation, and bow thyself in humble and sub- 
missive obedience to his supreme direction. 

The Lord is gracious and beneficent ; he 
created the world in mercy and love. His 
goodness is conspicuous in all his works ; he 
is the fountain of excellence, the centre of 
perfection. The creatures of his hand de- 
clare his goodness, and all their enjoyments 
speak his praise. He clothes them with beau- 
ty, he supports them with food, and preserves 
them from generation to generation. If we 
lift up our eyes to the heavens, his glory 
shines forth ; if we cast them down upon the 
earth, it is full of his goodness. The hills and 
the valleys rejoice and sing ; fields, rivers, 
and woods resound his praise. 

But thee, O man ! he has distinguished 
with peculiar favor, and exalted thy station 
above all the creatures. He has endued 
thee with reason to maintain thy dominion ; 
he has furnished thee with language to im- 
prove by society ; and exalted thy mind with 
the powers of meditation, to contemplate and 
adore his inimitable perfections. 

And in the laws which he has ordained as 
the rule of thy life, he has so kindly suited 
thy duty to thy nature, that obedience to his 
precepts is happiness to thyself. 0 praise 



TRUST IN DIVINE PROVIDENCE. 141 

his goodness with songs of thanksgiving, and 
meditate in silence on the wonders of his 
love. Let thy heart overflow with gratitude 
and acknowledgments ; let the language of 
thy lips be praise and adoration ; let the ac- 
tions of thy life show thy love to his law. 

The Lord is just and righteous, and will 
judge the earth with equity and truth. Has 
he established his laws in goodness and 
mercy, and shall he not punish the transgres- 
sors of them ? Think not, bold man, because 
thy punishment is delayed, that the arm of 
the Lord is weakened ; nor flatter thyself 
with hopes that he winks at thy evil doings. 

His eye pierces into the secrets of every 
heart, and he remembers them forever. He 
respects not the persons nor the stations of 
men : the high and the low, the rich and the 
poor, the wise and the ignorant, when the 
soul has shaken off the cumbrous shackles of 
this mortal life, shall equally receive from the 
sentence of God a just and everlasting ret- 
ribution according to their works. Then 
shall the wicked tremble and be afraid ; but 
the hearts of the righteous shall rejoice in his 
judgments. 

O fear the Lord, therefore, all the days of 
thy life, and walk in the paths which he has 
opened before thee. Let prudence admonish 
thee, let temperance restrain, let justice guide 
thy hand, benevolence warm thy heart, and 
gratitude to heaven inspire thee with devo- 



142 



COWARDICE AND INJUSTICE ; 



tion. These shall give thee happiness in thy 
present state, and bring thee to the mansions 
of eternal felicity in the paradise of God. 



COWARDICE AND INJUSTICE ; COURAGE AND GENER- 
OSITY. 

A little boy was amusing himself with a 
top, which he whipped with great expertness, 
on the flags in one of the streets of Manches- 
ter. An older and more lusty boy happening 
to pass that way, snatched up the top, and 
would have escaped with it if the proprietor 
had not laid hold of his coat and prevented 
his flight. Remonstrances, however, were 
vain ; and when the little boy offered to wrest 
the top out of his hand, with more spirit than 
strength, he received so many blows from the 
plunderer that he was obliged to desist. Ja= 
cobus was returning from school, when he 
saw the combatants at a distance ; and he 
hastened to them that he might put an end to 
a contest so unequal. 

But before he arrived, the senior boy, con- 
scious of his cowardice and injustice, and 
fearing to engage with one who was his 
match, threw down the top and ran away 
with great precipitation. Jacobus related 
this little incident to his father ; and informed 
him that the boy whom he had put to flight- 
was a terror to all others inferior to himself 
in size and strength. Euphronius listened to 



COURAGE AND GENEROSITY* 



143 



Ms son with pleasure ; and explained to liim 
the nature of property, and the baseness of 
depriving another of his right either by fraud 
or violence. He then repeated the following 
story, to display the union of courage with 
generosity ; and to show that it is even below 
brutality to attack without being provoked^ 
or to take undue advantage of the feebleness 
of an adversary, 

" I remember a certain person inhumanly 
cast a poor little dog into the den of a lion, in 
full assurance of seeing him immediately de- 
voured ; but, contrary to his expectations, the 
noble animal not only spared the victim, but 
soon honored him with particular affection. 
He regarded the dog as an unfortunate fel- 
low-prisoner ; who, on his part, from motives 
of gratitude, was constantly fawning about 
his generous lord. They long lived together 
in uninterrupted peace and friendship; one 
watched while the other slept. First the 
lion fed, and then his humble companion. In 
a word, the magnanimity of the one and the 
gratitude of the other had united them in the 
closest manner ; but a careless servant, for- 
getting that other creatures require food as 
well as himself, left the two friends twenty- 
four hours without victuals, 

" At last, recollecting his charge, he brought 
them their usual provision; when the dog 
eagerly catched at the first morsel. But it 
was at the expense of his life ; for the hungry 



144 



THE TIGER AND THE ELEPHANT. 



lion instantly seized his poor companion and 
crushed him to death. The perpetration of 
this horrid deed was instantly succeeded by a 
severe and painful repentance. The lion's 
dejection daily increased, He refused his 
food with heroic constancy, and voluntarily 
famished himself to death,"* 



THE TIGER AND THE ELEPHANT. 

True Courage exerted in Repelling, not in Offering 
Injuries, 

In one of the deserts of Africa, a tiger of 
uncommon size, agility, and fierceness, com- 
mitted the most dreadful ravages. He at- 
tacked every animal he met with, and was 
never satiated with blood and slaughter. Re- 
sistance served only to increase his ferocity ; 
and passive timidity to multiply his victims. 
When the forest afforded him no prey, he 
lurked near a fountain of water, and seized, 
in quick succession, and with indiscriminate 
cruelty, the various beasts that came to drink. 
It happened that an elephant stopped to quench 
his thirst at the stream, while the tiger lay 
concealed in the adjoining thicket. 

The sight of a creature so stupendous rather 
incited than restrained his rapacity. He com- 
pared his own agility with the unwieldy bulk 
of the elephant ; and trusting that he should 

* See Count Teffin's Letters to the Prince Royal of Swe- 
den, vol. i. p. 194. 



THE TAME GEESE AND WILD GEESE. 145 

find him as unfit to fight as to fly, he bounded 
towards him, and snatched with open jaws at 
his proboscis. The elephant instantly con- 
tracted it with great presence of mind ; and 
receiving the furious beast on his tusks, tossed 
him up a considerable height into the air. 
Stunned with his fall, the tiger lay motionless 
some time ; and the generous elephant dis- 
daining revenge, left him to recover from his 
bruises. When the tiger came to himself, 
(like the aggressor in every quarrel) he was 
enraged at the repulse ; and pursuing his in- 
jured and peaceable adversary, he again as- 
sailed him with redoubled violence. The re- 
sentment of the elephant was now roused ; he 
wounded the tiger with his tusks, and then 
beat him to death with his trunk. 

Does the ferocity of the tiger merit the 
honorable appellation of courage ? Or will 
you not rather apply that epithet to the calm 
intrepidity of the inoffensive elephant ? The 
moral distinction is of considerable import- 
ance ; and if it be clearly understood, you 
will detest the brutal character of Achilles, 
whether you meet with it in the page of his- 
tory or in the transactions of life. 

THE TAME GEESE AND WILD GEESE. 

Two geese strayed from a farm-yard in the 
fens of Lincolnshire, and swam down a canal 
to a large morass, which afforded them an ex- 
13 



146 



BEAUT 7 AND DEFORMITY. 



tensive range and plenty of food. A flock of 
wild geese frequently resorted to it ; and 
though at first they were so shy as not to suf- 
fer the tame ones to join them, by degrees 
they became w r ell acquainted, and associated 
freely together. One evening their cackling 
reached the ears of a fox that was prowling 
at no great distance from the morass. The 
artful plunderer directed his course through a 
wood on the borders of it, and was within a 
few yards of his prey before any of the geese 
perceived him. But the alarm was given just 
as he was springing upon them, and the whole 
flock instantly ascended into the air with loud 
and dissonant cries. The wild geese winged 
their flight into the higher regions, and were 
seen no more ; but the two tame ones, unused 
to soar, and habituated to receive protection 
without any exertion of their own powers, 
soon dropped down and became successively 
the victims of the fox. 

The faculties of every animal are impaired 
by disuse, and strengthened by exercise. And 
in man the energy and versatility of the mind 
depend upon action, no less than the vigor 
and agility of the body. 

BEAUTY AND DEFORMITY. 

A youth who lived in the country, and who 
had not acquired, either by reading or conver- 
sation, any knowledge of the animals which 



BEAUTY AND DEFORMITY. 



147 



inhabit foreign regions, came to Manchester 
to see an exhibition of wild beasts. The size 
and figure of the elephant struck him with 
awe, and he viewed the rhinoceros with as- 
tonishment. But his attention was soon with- 
drawn from these animals and directed to 
another, of the most elegant and beautiful 
form ; and he stood contemplating, with silent 
admiration, the glossy smoothness of his hair, 
the blackness and regularity of the streaks 
with which he was marked, the symmetry of 
his limbs, and, above all, the placid sweetness 
of his countenance. 

" What is the name of this lovely animal," 
said he to the keeper, " which you have placed 
near one of the ugliest beasts in your collec- 
tion, as if you meant to contrast beauty with 
deformity ?" 

"Beware, young man," replied the intelli- 
gent keeper, " of being so easily captivated 
with external appearance. The animal which 
you admire is called a tiger; and notwith- 
standing the meekness of his looks, he is fierce 
and savage beyond description. I can neither 
terrify him by correction nor tame him by in- 
dulgence. But the other beast which you 
despise is in the highest degree docile, affec- 
tionate, and useful. For the benefit of man 
he traverses the sandy deserts of Arabia, 
where drink and pasture are seldom to be 
found, and will continue six or seven days 
without sustenance, yet still patient of labor. 



148 



THE JOLLY FELLOW. 



His hair is manufactured into clothing, his 
flesh is deemed wholesome nourishment, and 
the milk of the female is much valued by the 
Arabs. The camel, therefore, (for such is the 
name given to this animal,) is more worthy 
of your admiration than the tiger, notwith- 
standing the inelegance of his make and the 
two bunches upon his back. For mere ex- 
ternal beauty is of little estimation ; and de- 
formity, when associated with amiable dispo- 
sitions and useful qualities, does not preclude 
our respect and approbation. 



THE JOLLY FELLOW. 

Roderic was a young man who had neglect- 
ed the cultivation of his understanding, and 
had made an early sacrifice of knowiedge to 
merriment. He could sing a jovial song, and 
tell a story admirably ; for he despised truth 
when it interfered with the embellishments of 
humor. His society was courted by the gay 
and the dissipated ; and whenever he exerted 
his talents he set the table in a roar. But 
Roderic was subject to sudden revolutions of 
mind. At a convivial meeting one day, he 
had been more than usually lively and face- 
tious. The champagne went briskly round, 
and bottle after bottle in quick succession was 
emptied and cast aside. All at once he be- 
came pensive, his countenance fell, his eyes 
were fixed, and he seemed lost in meditation* 



PERSECUTION. 



149 



The company rallied him, and demanded 
the cause of such an unexpected transition 
from jollity to gloom. " Certain strange ideas," 
said he, " have obtruded themselves upon me, 
and I was shocked to perceive how exactly I 
resemble the bottle of champagne that is be- 
fore us." The answer was a mystery. After 
a short pause he unravelled it. " Like this 
bottle," continued he, " I am only sparkling 
and frothy ; the source of exhilaration, but not 
of satisfaction. Sickness or misfortune, the 
storms of life, may sour my wit, or flatten my 
spirits, time will inevitably exhaust them ; 
and I shall then be put away with contempt 
as an empty vessel of no intrinsic value." 



PERSECUTION. 
An ancient Fragment. 

Aram was sitting at the door of his tent, 
under the shade of his fig-tree ; when it came 
to pass that a man stricken with years, bear- 
ing a staff in his hand, journeyed that way. 
And it was noonday. And Aram said unto 
the stranger, " Pass not by, I pray thee, but 
come in and wash thy feet, and tarry here 
until the evening ; for thou art stricken with 
years, and the heat overcometh thee." And 
the stranger left his staff at the door, and en- 
tered into the tent of Aram. And he rested 
himself ; and Aram set before him bread, and 
cakes of fine meal baked upon the hearth. 
13* 



150 



PERSECUTION. 



And Aram blessed the bread, calling upon 
the name of the Lord. But the stranger did 
eat, and refused to pray unto the Most High, 
saying, " Thy Lord is not the God of my fa- 
thers ; why therefore should I present my 
vows unto him V 9 And Aram's wrath was kin- 
dled ; and he called his servants, and they 
beat the stranger, and drove him into the 
wilderness. 

Now in the evening Aram lifted up his 
voice unto the Lord, and prayed unto him ; 
and the Lord said, " Aram, where is the stran- 
ger that sojourned this day with thee V 9 And 
Aram answered and said, " Behold, O Lord ! 
he ate of thy bread, and would not offer unto 
thee his prayers and thanksgivings : there- 
fore did I chastise him, and drive him from 
before me into the wilderness. 99 

And the Lord said unto Aram, " Who hath 
made thee a judge between me and him ? 
Have not I borne with thine iniquities and 
winked at thy backslidings ; and shalt thou 
be severe with thy brother, to mark his errors, 
and to punish his perverseness ? Arise and 
follow the stranger, and carry with thee oil 
and wine, and anoint his bruises, and speak 
kindly unto him. For I, the Lord thy Gcd, 
am a jealous God, and judgment belongeth 
only unto me. Vain is thine oblation of 
thanksgiving without a lowly heart. As a 
bulrush thou mayest bow down thy head, and 
lift up thy voice like a trumpet : but thou 



FILLIAL KEVERENCE IN CHINA. 151 



' obeyest not the ordinance of thy God, if thy 
worship be for strife and debate. Behold the 
j sacrifice that I have chosen ; is it not to undo 
the heavy burdens, to let the oppressed go 
j free, and to break every yoke ? To deal thy 
|j jbread to the hungry, and to bring ^he poor 
3 that are cast out to thy house V 9 And Aram 
| trembled before the presence of God. And 
j he arose, and put on sackcloth and ashes, and 
j went out into the wilderness to do as the 
ii Lord had commanded him.* 



FILIAL REVERENCE IN CHINA. 

In China let a son become ever so rich, and 
a father ever so poor, there is no submission, 
in point of obedience, that the latter cannot 
command, or that the former can refuse. The 
I father is not only absolute master of his son's 
estate, but of his children also ; whom, if they 
displease him, he may sell to strangers. 
When a father accuses a son before a man- 
darin, there needs no proof of his guilt ; for 
they cannot believe that any father can be 
so unnatural as to bring a false accusation 
against his own son. 

But should a son be so insolent as to mock 

* This parable is an imitation of one composed by Dr. 
Franklin, if that may be called an imitation which was writ- 
ten without a sight, and from a very imperfect account, of 
the original. Mr. Dodsley has inserted the present piece in 
the Annual Register for 1777, but it has here undergone 
some alterations. 



152 FILIAL REVERENCE IN CHINA. 

his father, or arrive at such a pitch of wick- 
edness as to strike him, all the province where 
the act of violence is committed is alarmed : 
it even becomes the concern of the whole em- 
pire ; the emperor himself judges the crimi- 
nal. The mandarins near the place are turned 
out of their posts, especially those in the town 
where the offender lived, for having been so 
negligent in their instructions ; and the neigh- 
bors are reprimanded for neglecting, by former 
punishments, to put a stop to the wickedness 
of the criminal before it arrived at such an 
extremity. With respect to the unhappy man 
himself, he is put to death ; his house and 
those near it are destroyed, and the ground is 
sowed with salt, under the idea that there 
must be some uncommon depravity of man- 
ners, requiring extraordinary corrections, in a 
community to which such a monster belonged. 

Although much of the above description of 
the custom of China exhibits the character of 
an almost half-barbarous people, yet the prin- 
ciple, which is at the bottom of the custom 
itself, is most admirable. There is nothing 
just which is required of us by the authors of 
our being and the protectors of our infancy 
which we should not do ; and there is scarcely 
any punishment too great for a neglect of the 
duty prescribed by the Almighty himself, when 
he placed upon the tables of the law the di- 
vine injunction, " Honor thy father and thy 
mother, that thy days may be long in the land." 



FRATERNAL LOVE. 



153 



FRATERNAL LOVE. 

A transport, containing several hundred 
Portuguese soldiers, was shipwrecked on the 
coast of Caffraria, in Africa. A portion of 

; the survivors determined to proceed along the 
beach, and the rest committed themselves 

| once more to the sea, in a vessel constructed 

I of the remains of the wreck, which had been 

II washed ashore. They had not been long out 
I of sight of land before it was discovered that 

in case of a storm the boat was too heavily 
laden for safety ; and when the appearance 
of the waves and sky threatened a heavy gale, 
it was decided to cast lots to ascertain who 
should be thrown overboard. 

Among others upon whom chance cast the 
fatal lots, there was a soldier whose younger 
brother was likewise in the boat. This last, 
the moment that he heard the result, threw 
himself on his knees and besought the crew 
to spare his brother, and take him as a victim 
in his stead. " We are the only children," he 
said, " of poor and aged parents, who depend 
upon us for support. I can do nothing to re- 
lieve them. It is my brother upon whom 
! they depend for food. They will perish if 
you destroy him, while the loss of my life will 
give them no additional inconvenience." 

The crew, softened by his entreaties, not- 
withstanding the remonstrances of the elder 



154 MEDITATION ON THE MATERIAL WORLD. 

brother, determined to accept the younger in 
his stead. This one then calmly distributed 
his clothes among those of his friends who 
were destined to survive, and threw himself 
into the sea. For a moment he sunk, and as 
the crew thought, forever. But in another 
instant it was seen that the love of life was 
still strong within him, as he stoutly swam 
after the boat. He continued to do this for 
six hours, when the entreaties of his brother 
induced the others to take him on board 
when the threatened storm had passed ; and, 
after suffering great distress, the whole were 
at last saved by a vessel which they chanced 
to fall in with. 



MEDITATION ON THE MATERIAL WORLD. 

If we consider those parts of the material 
world which lie nearest to us, and are there- 
fore subject to our inquiries, it is amazing to 
reflect on the infinity of animals with which 
it is stocked. Every part of matter swarms 
with inhabitants ; nay, we find in the most 
solid bodies innumerable cells and cavities 
which are crowded with those imperceptible 
inhabitants that are too small for the naked 
eye to discover. 

On the other hand, if we look into the more 
bulky parts of nature, we see the seas, lakes, 
and rivers teeming with numberless kinds of 
living creatures; we find every mountain 



MEDITATION ON THE MATERIAL WORLD. 155 

and marsh, wilderness and wood, plentifully 
stocked with birds and beasts, and every part 
of matter affording proper necessaries and 
conveniences for the livelihood of the multi- 
tudes which inhabit it. 

Infinite goodness is of so communicative a 
nature, that it seems to delight in conferring 
existence upon every degree of perceptive 
being. There are some living creatures 
which are raised but little above dead mat- 
ter. To mention only that species of shell- 
fish, which are formed in the fashion of a 
cone, which grow to the surface of rocks, and 
immediately die when separated from the 
place where they grow. 

Many other creatures are but one remove 
from these, possessing no other senses but 
those of feeling and taste : others have an 
additional sense of hearing ; others of smell- 
ing, and others of sight. It is wonderful to ob- 
serve by what a gradual progress the world 
of life advances through a prodigious variety 
of species, before a creature is formed which 
is complete in all its senses ; and the several 
degrees of perfection in which the senses are 
found, in the same species, are so great that 
they seem almost of a different nature. 

If we look into the several perfections of 
cunning and sagacity, we find them rising 
imperceptibly one above another, and receiv- 
ing additional improvements according to the 
species in which they are implanted. The 



156 MEDITATION ON THE MATERIAL WORLD. 

progress in nature is so very gradual, that 
the most perfect of an inferior species comes 
very near to the most imperfect of that which 
is immediately above it. 

T]ie unbounded goodness of the Supreme 
Being, whose mercy extends to all his works, 
is plainly seen from his having made so little 
matter which does not swarm with life ; nor 
is his goodness less seen in the diversity than 
in the multitude of living creatures. Had 
he made only one species of animals, none 
of the rest would have enjoyed the happi- 
ness of existence : he has therefore varied 
his creation with every degree of life, with 
every capacity of being. 

The whole chasm of nature from a plant 
to a man, is filled up with divers kinds of 
creatures, rising one above another by such 
a gentle and easy ascent, that the little tran- 
sitions and deviations from one species to an- 
other, are almost imperceptible. This inter- 
mediate space is so well managed, that there 
is scarce a degree of perception which does 
not appear in some part of the world of 
life. 

In this system of being, there is no crea- 
ture so wonderful in its nature, and which so 
much deserves our particular attention, as 
man, who fills up the middle space between 
the animal and intellectual nature, the visi- 
ble and invisible world, and is that link in 
the chain of beings which has often been 



THE FOUR SEASONS OF THE YEAR. 157 

termed the connection of each world. So that 
he who is in one respect associated with an- 
gels and archangels, may look upon a Being 
of infinite perfection as his father, and the 
highest order of spirits as his brethren ; and 
may, in another respect, say to corruption, 
" thou art my father," and to the worm, " thou 
art my mother and my sister." 



THE FOUR SEASONS OF THE YEAR. 

In contemplating on the various scenes 
of life, the vicissitudes of the seasons, the 
perfect regularity, order, and harmony of 
nature, we cannot but be filled with wonder 
and admiration at the consummate wisdom 
and beneficence of the all- wise and gracious 
Creator. His consummate wisdom and good- 
ness have made the various seasons of the 
year perfectly consonant to the refined feel- 
ings of man, and peculiarly adapted them to 
the universal preservation of nature. 

Dreary winter is past ; its severe cold is 
mitigated ; the returning zephyrs dissolve the 
fleecy snow, and unlock the frozen streams 
which overflow the extensive meadows and 
enrich the teeming earth. At length the 
rapid streams begin to glide gently within 
their banks; the spacious meadows soon re- 
ceive their usual verdure, and the whole face 
of nature assumes a cheerful aspect. By the 
refreshing showers and vivifying power of 
14 



158 THE FOUR SEASONS OF THE YEAR. 

the genial sun, we behold the rapid and 
amazing progress of vegetation. 

What is more pleasing to the eye, or grate- 
ful to the imagination, than the agreeable 
and delightsome return of spring ? The beau- 
ties of nature at once expel the gloomy cares 
of a dreary winter. The benign influence of 
the sun gives a brisk circulation to the ani- 
mal fluids, and happily tends to promote the 
propagation of animated nature. In spring 
we behold the buds putting forth their blos- 
soms ; in summer we meet the charming 
prospect of enamelled fields, which promise a 
rich profusion of autumnal fruits. 

These delightful scenes afford to man a 
pleasing anticipation of enjoying the bounties 
of Providence ; they cheer him in adversity, 
and support him under the various misfor- 
tunes incident to human life. In the spring, 
when we behold plants and flowers peeping 
out of the ground, reviving and flourishing at 
the approach of the vernal sun ; when we 
behold the seed, which the laborious husband- 
man casts into the earth, starting into life, 
and rising into beauty, from the remainder of 
that which perished in the preceding autumn, 
we are filled with the most pleasing sensa- 
tions of the universal reanimation of nature. 

The warm and invigorating sun produces 
myriads of insects, which have been lifeless 
through the hoary frosts of winter. The 
herds go forth to graze on the verdant plains. 



MISCHIEF ITS OWN PUNISHMENT. 150 

The numerous flocks quit their folds with 
their young, to feed on the distant mountains. 
The lark, with all the charming choir which 
nature wakes to cheerfulness and love, tune 
their melodious voices to hail the welcome 
return of spring. The busy bee flies over the 
fields and extracts the liquid sweets from 
every flower. 

How pleasing ! how wonderful ! how de- 
lightful are the scenes presented to our view ! 
The spring of the year is strikingly emblemati- 
cal of that grand and universal Resurrection, 
which shall commence at the final consumma- 
tion of all things. May its beauties, therefore, 
raise our affections to those superior regions of 
bliss, into which the truly virtuous shall then 
enter, and forever enjoy an unfading and eter- 
nal spring. 



MISCHIEF ITS OWN PUNISHMENT. 

Mr. Stevenson and his little son Richard, 
as they were one fine day walking in the 
fields together, passed by the side of a gar- 
den in which they saw a beautiful pear-tree 
loaded with fruit. Richard cast a longing 
eye at it, and complained to his papa that he 
was very dry. On Mr. Stevenson saying that 
he was very dry also, but that they must bear 
it with patience till they got home, Richard 
pointed to the pear-tree, and begged his papa 
to let him go and get one ; for, as the hedge 



160 MISCHIEF ITS OWN PUNISHMENT. 

was not very thick, he said he could easily 
get through without being seen by any one. 

Richard's father reminded him that the 
garden and fruit were private property, and 
to take any thing from thence without per- 
mission was no better than robbery. He al- 
lowed that there might be a possibility of 
getting into the garden without being seen 
by the owner of it ; but such a wicked deed 
could not be concealed from Him who sees 
every action of our lives, and who penetrates 
into the very secrets of our hearts ; and that 
is God. 

His son shook his head, and said he was 
sensible of his error, and w T ould no more 
think of committing a robbery. He recollect- 
ed that he had been told the same thing be- 
fore, but he had then forgotten it. 

At this instant a man started up from be- 
hind the hedge which had before concealed 
him from their sight. This was an old man, 
the owner of the garden, who had heard 
every thing which had passed between Mr. 
Stevenson and his son. 

" Be thankful to God, my child," said the 
old man, " that your father prevented your 
getting into my garden with a view to take 
away my fruit. You little thought that at 
the foot of each tree is placed a trap to catch 
thieves, which you could not have escaped, 
and which might have lamed you for the rest 
of your life. I am, however, happy to find 



MISCHIEF ITS OWN PUNISHMENT. 161 

that you so readily listened to the first admo- 
nition of your father, and showed such a fear 
of offending God. 

As you have behaved in so just and sensi- 
ble a manner, you shall now, without any 
danger of trouble, partake of the fruit of my 
garden." He then went to the finest pear- 
tree, gave it a shake, and brought down near 
a hatful of fruit, which he immediately gave 
to Richard. 

This civil old man could not be prevailed 
on to accept of any thing in return, though 
Mr. Stevenson pulled out his purse for that 
purpose. " I am sufficiently satisfied, sir," 
said he, " in thus obliging your son ; and were 
I to accept any thing, that satisfaction would 
be lost." 

Mr. Stevenson thanked him very kindly, 
and having shaken hands over the hedge, 
they parted, Richard at the same time taking 
leave of the old man very politely. Little 
Richard, having finished several of the pears, 
began to find himself at leisure to talk to his 
papa. " This is a very good old man," said 
he, " but would God have punished me if I 
had taken these pears without his leave ?" 

" He certainly would," replied Mr. Steven- 
son, " for he never fails, either in this world or 
the next, to reward good actions, and to chas- 
tise those who commit evil. 

" The good old man fully explained to you 
this matter, in telling you of the traps laid for 
14* 



162 MISCHIEF ITS OWN PUXISHMEXT. 

thieves, into which you must inevitably have 
fallen, had you entered his garden in a clan- 
destine manner. God orders every thing that 
passes upon earth, and directs events so as 
frequently to reward good people for virtuous 
actions, and to punish the wicked for their 
crimes in the present state. 

" In order to make this more clear to you, 
I will relate an affair which happened when 
I was a boy, and which I shall never forget." 
Richard seemed very attentive to his father, 
and having said that he should be very glad 
to hear his story, Mr. Stevenson thus pro- 
ceeded : 

" When I lived with my father, and was 
about your age, we had two neighbors, one 
on each side of us, and their names were Da- 
vis and Johnson. Mr. Davis had a son named 
William, and Mr. Johnson had one of the 
name of Harry. Our gardens were, at that 
time, separated only by quickset hedges, so 
that it was easy to see into each other's 
grounds. 

"It was too often the practice with Wil 
liam, when he found himself alone in his fa- 
ther's garden, to take a pleasure in throwing 
stones over the hedges, without paying the 
least regard to the mischief they might do. 
Mr. Davis had frequently caught him at this 
dangerous sport, and never failed severely to 
reprimand him for it, and to threaten him 
with severe punishment if he did aot desist 



MISCHIEF ITS OWN PUNISHMENT. 163 

" But this child, unhappily, either knew not, 
or would not take the trouble to reflect, that 
we should not do amiss, even when we are 
alone, for reasons which I have already men- 
tioned to you. His father being one day gone 
out, and therefore thinking that nobody could 
see him, or bring him to punishment, he filled 
his pockets with stones, and then began to 
fling them about at random. 

"Mr. Johnson happened to be in his garden 
at the same time, and his son Harry with 
him. This boy was of much the same dispo- 
sition as William, thinking there was no 
crime in doing mischief, provided he was not 
discovered. 

" His father had a gun charged, which he 
brought into the garden in order to shoot the 
birds, that made sad havoc among his cher- 
ries, and was sitting in the summer-house to 
watch them. At this instant a servant came 
to acquaint him that a strange gentleman de- 
sired to speak with him, and was waiting in 
the parlor. 

" He therefore put down the gun into the 
summer-house, and strictly ordered Harry by 
no means to touch it ; but he was no sooner 
gone, than this naughty boy said to himself, 
that he could see no harm in playing a little 
with the gun, and therefore took it up, put it 
on his shoulder, and endeavored to act the 
part of a soldier. The muzzle of the gun 
happened to be pointed towards Mr. Davis's 



164 MISCHIEF ITS OWN PUNISHMENT. 

garden, and just as he was in the midst of his 
military exercises, a stone thrown by Wil- 
liam hit him directly on one of his eyes. 

" The fright and pain together made Harry 
drop the gun, which went off, and in a mo- 
ment both gardens resounded with the most 
dismal shrieks and lamentations. Harry had 
received a blow in the eye with a stone, and 
the whole charge of the gun had entered 
William's leg. The sad consequences of 
which were, the one lost his eye, and the 
other a leg." 

Richard could not help pitying poor Wil- 
liam and Harry for their terrible misfortune, 
and Mr. Stevenson did not blame his son for 
his tenderness. " It is true," said he, " they 
were much to be pitied, and their parents still 
more, for having such vicious and disobedient 
children. Yet it is probable, if God had not 
early punished these boys, they might have 
continued their mischievous practices as often 
as they found themselves alone ; but by this 
misfortune they learned that God could find 
w r ays to punish any wickedness which was 
done in secret. 

" This had the desired effect, as both of 
them ever after left off all kinds of mischief, 
and became wise and prudent young men." 
Richard was very much struck with this 
story, and said he hoped he should never lose 
either a leg or an eye by such imprudent 
conduct. This interesting conversation was 



TWO HEADS BETTER THAN ONE. 165 

interrupted by their arrival at their own 
house, when Richard hastened to find his 
brothers and sisters, to make them a present 
of some of his fine pears, and to tell them the 
adventures of his walk, and the history of 
William and Harry. 



TWO HEADS BETTER THAN ONE. 

Adrian had frequently heard his father say 
that children have but little knowledge with 
respect to what is most proper for them ; and 
that the greatest proof they could give of 
their wisdom, would be in following the ad- 
vice of people who have more age and expe- 
rience than themselves. But this was a kind 
of doctrine Adrian did not understand, or at 
least would not, and therefore it is no wonder 
that he forgot it. 

This wise and good father had allotted 
him and his brother Arthur a convenient 
piece of ground, in order that each might be 
possessed of a little garden, and display his 
knowledge and industry in the cultivation of 
it. They had also leave to sow whatever 
seeds they should think proper, and to trans- 
plant any tree they liked out of their father's 
garden into their own. 

Arthur remembered those words of his fa- 
ther, which his brother Adrian had forgotten, 
and therefore went to consult their gardener, 
Rufus. " Pray, tell me," said he, " what is 



166 TWO HEADS BETTER THAN ONE. 

now in season to sow in my garden, and in 
what manner am I to set about my busi- 
ness ?" 

The gardener hereupon gave him several 
roots and seeds, such as were most proper for 
the season. Arthur instantly ran, and put 
them into the ground, and Rufus, very kindly, 
not only assisted him in the work, but made 
him acquainted with many things very neces- 
sary to be known. 

Adrian, on the other hand, shrugged up his 
shoulders at his brother's industry, thinking 
he was taking much more pains than was 
necessary. Rufus not knowing his disposi- 
tion, offered him likewise his assistance and 
instruction ; but he refused it in a manner that 
clearly discovered his vanity and ignorance. 
He then went into his father's garden and 
took from thence a quantity of flowers, which 
he immediately transplanted into his own. 
The gardener took no notice of him, but left 
him to do as he pleased. 

When Adrian visited his garden the next 
morning, all the flowers which he had plant- 
ed hung their heads like so many mourners, 
and, as he plainly saw, were in a dying state, 
he replaced them with others from his father's 
garden ; but on visiting them the next morn- 
ing, he found them perishing like the for- 
mer. 

This was a matter of great vexation to 
Adrian, who consequently soon became dis- 



THE THORN-BUSHES. 



167 



gusted with this kind of business, and gave 
it up as an uprofitable gain. Hence his 
piece of ground soon became a wilderness of 
weeds and thistles. 

As he was looking into his brother's gar- 
den about the middle of summer, he saw 
something of a red color hanging near the 
ground, which, on examination, he found to 
be strawberries of a delicious flavor. " Ah !" 
said he, " I should have planted strawberries 
in my garden." 

Some time afterwards as he w r as walking 
again in his brother's garden, he saw little 
berries of a milk-white color, which hung 
down in clusters from the branches of a bush. 
Upon examination, he found they were cur- 
rants, which even the sight of was a feast. 
" Ah !" said he, " I should have planted cur- 
rants in my garden." 

The gardener then observed to him, that it 
was his own fault that his garden was not as 
productive as his brother's. " Never for the 
future," said Rufus, " despise the instruction 
and assistance of any one, since you will find, 
by experience, that two heads are better than 
one" 



THE THORN-BUSHES. 

Mr. Stanhope and his son Gregory were, 
one evening in the month of May, sitting at 
the foot of a delightful hill, and surveying 



168 



THE THORN-BUSHES. 



the beautiful works of nature that surrounded 
them. 

The declining sun, now sinking into the 
west, seemed to clothe every thing with a 
purple robe. The cheerful song of a shep- 
herd called off their attention from those de- 
lightful objects. This shepherd was driving 
home his flock from the neighboring fields. 
Thorn-bushes grew on each side of the road, 
and every sheep that approached the thorns 
was sure to be robbed of some part of its 
wool, which quite displeased little Gregory. 

" Only see, papa," said he, " how the sheep 
are deprived of their wool by those bushes ! 
You have often told me that nothing was 
made in vain ; but these briers seem made 
only for mischief; people should therefore 
join to destroy them root and branch. 

« "Were the poor sheep to come often this 
way, they would be robbed of all their cloth- 
ing. But that shall not be the case, for I will 
rise with the sun to-morrow morning, and 
with my little bill-hook and snip-snap, I will 
level all these briers w T ith the ground. You 
may come with me, papa, if you please, and 
bring with you an axe. Before breakfast, we 
shall be able to destroy them all." 

Mr. Stanhope replied, " We must not go 
about this business in too great a hurry, but 
take a little time to consider upon it ; per- 
haps there may not be so much cause for 
being angry with these bushes, as you at pres- 



THE THORN- BUSHES. 



169 



ent seem to imagine. Have you not seen the 
owners of sheep, with a great pair of shears 
in their hands, take from their flocks all their 
wool, not being contented with a few locks 
only ?" 

Gregory allowed that to be true. " But 
they do it," said he, " in order to make 
clothes ; whereas the hedges rob the sheep 
without having the least occasion for their 
wool, and evidently for no useful purpose. 
If it be useful for sheep to lose their clothing 
at a certain time of the year, then it is much 
better to take it for our own advantage, than 
to suffer the hedges to pull it off for no end 
whatever." 

Mr. Stanhope allowed the arguments of 
little Gregory to be just ; for nature has given 
to every beast a clothing, and we are obliged 
from them to borrow our own, otherwise we 
should be forced to go naked, and should be 
exposed to the inclemency of the elements. 

" Very well, papa," said Gregory, " though 
we want clothing, yet these bushes want 
none ; they rob us of what we have need, 
and therefore, down they shall come, with to- 
morrow morning's rising sun. And I dare 
say, papa, you will come along with me and 
assist me." 

Mr. Stanhope could not but consent, and 
little Gregory thought himself nothing less 
than an Alexander, merely from the expecta- 
tion of destroying at once this formidable 
15 



170 



THE THORN-BUSHES. 



band of robbers. He could hardly sleep, being 
so much taken up with the idea of his vic- 
tories, to which the next morning was to be 
a witness. 

The cheerful lark had hardly begun to pro- 
claim the approach of morning, when Greg- 
ory got up and ran to awake his papa. Mr. 
Stanhope, though he was very indifferent con- 
cerning the fate of the thorn-bushes, yet he 
was not displeased with having an opportu- 
nity of showing his little Gregory the beauties 
of the rising sun. 

They both dressed themselves immediately, 
took the necessary instruments, and set out 
on this important expedition. Young Grego- 
ry marched forward with such hasty steps, 
that Mr. Stanhope was obliged to exert him- 
self to avoid being left behind. 

When they came near to the bushes, they 
observed a multitude of little birds flying 
in and out of them, and nimbly hopping from 
branch to branch. On seeing this, Mr. Stan- 
hope stopped his son, and desired him to sus- 
pend his vengeance a little time, that they 
might not disturb these innocent birds. 

With this view they retired to the foot of 
the hill, where they had sat the preceding 
evening, and from thence examined more par- 
ticularly what had occasioned this apparent 
bustle among the birds. 

And now they plainly saw that they were 
employed in carrying away those bits of wool 



THE THORN-BUSHES. 



171 



in their beaks, which the bushes had torn 
from the sheep the evening before. Here 
there came a multitude of different sorts of 
birds, and loaded themselves with the plun- 
der. 

Gregory was quite astonished at this sight, 
and asked his papa what could be the meaning 
of it. " You by this plainly see," replied Mr. 
Stanhope, " that Providence provides for crea- 
tures of every kind, and furnishes them with 
all things necessary for their convenience 
and preservation. Here the poor birds find 
what is necessary for their habitations, where- 
in they are to nurse and rear their young, 
and with this they make a comfortable bed 
for themselves and their little family. 

" The innocent thorn-bush, against which 
you yesterday so loudly exclaimed, you see 
now is of the greatest service to the inhabit- 
ants of the air. It takes from those only 
that are rich, what they can very well spare, 
in order to satisfy the wants of the poor. 

" Have you now any wish to cut those 
bushes down, which you find to answer so 
useful a purpose ?" Gregory shook his head, 
and said he would not cut them down for the 
w r orld. Mr. Stanhope applauded his son for 
so saying ; and after enjoying the sweets of 
the morning, they returned home to break- 
fast, leaving the bushes to flourish in peace, 
since they made so generous a use of their 
conquests. 



172 



THE VENOMOUS WORM. 



From this story we should be convinced of 
the impropriety of too hastily cherishing pre- 
judices against any persons or things ; since 
however forbidding or useless they may, at 
first sight, appear to be, a more familiar ac- 
quaintance with them may discover many 
uses and perfections which were before un- 
observed. 

Sweet contemplation, come pursue 
The scene presented to thy view ; 
The bleating herds, the lowing kine, 
The spreading oak, the towering pine, 
The air from noxious vapors free, 
While squirrels trip from tree to tree, 
And the sweet songsters hover round, 
Trees, herbs, and flowers, enrich the ground, 
And each their various fruits produce, 
Some for delight, and some for use. 

Behold ! O youth, this scene, and see, 
What nature's God hath given thee. 
With wonder view his great designs, 
In which superior wisdom shines : 
Revere his name, admire his love, 
And raise thy thoughts to worlds above. 



THE VENOMOUS WORM. 

Who has not heard of the rattle-snake or 
copper-head ? An unexpected sight of either 
of these reptiles will make even the lords of 
creation recoil ; but there is a species of 
worm, found in various parts of the country, 
which conveys a poison of a nature so deadly, 
that, compared with it, even the venom of 



THE VENOMOUS WORM. 



173 



the rattle-snake is harmless. To guard our 
readers against this foe of human kind, is the 
object of this lesson. 

This worm varies much in size. It is fre- 
quently an inch in diameter, but, as it is 
rarely seen, except when coiled, its length can 
hardly be conjectured. It is of a dull lead- 
color, and generally lives near a spring or 
small stream of water, and bites the unfortu- 
nate people who are in the habit of going 
there to drink. The brute creation it never 
molests. They avoid it with the same in- 
stinct that teaches the animals of Peru to 
shun the deadly coya. 

Many of these reptiles have long infested 
our land, to the misery and destruction of 
many of our fellow-citizens. I have, there- 
fore, had frequent opportunities of being the 
melancholy spectator of the effects produced 
by the subtle poison which this worm in- 
fuses. 

The symptoms of its bite are terrible. The 
eyes of the patient become red and fiery, his 
tongue swells to an immoderate size, and ob- 
structs his utterance ; and delirium, of the 
most horrid character, quickly follows. Some- 
times, in his madness, he attempts the destruc- 
tion of his nearest friends. 

If the sufferer has a family, his weeping 
wife and helpless infants are not unfrequently 
the objects of his frantic fury. In a word, 
he exhibits, to the life, all the detestable pas- 



174 



THE KING-BIRD. 



sions that rankle in the bosom of a savage ; 
and, such is the spell in which his senses 
are locked, that no sooner has the unhappy 
patient recovered from the paroxysm of in- 
sanity, occasioned by the bite, than he seeks 
out the destroyer, for the sole purpose of being 
bitten again. 

I have seen a good old father, his locks as 
white as snow, his steps slow and trembling, 
beg in vain of his only son to quit the lurking- 
place of the worm. My heart bled when he 
turned away ; for I knew the fond hope, that 
his son would be the " staff of his declining 
years," had supported him through many a 
sorrow. Youths of America, would you know 
the name of this reptile ? It is called the 
Worm of the Still. 



THE KING-BIRD. 

" Did you ever see a king-bird, my little 
friend ? Did you ever hear your parents tell 
how it masters every other bird that flies ? 
It is a little bird ; when you first saw it, per- 
haps you would say, a contemptible little bird. < 
Yet, small as it is, the largest hawk may well 
be afraid of it and own its power. The great 
black crow, which one would think might 
almost swallow the king-bird alive, dares not 
stay in its sight. I do not know that even an < 
eagle would be able to drive away the little 
thing. 



THE KING-BIRD. 



175 



c What makes a bird that is so small, so 
powerful ? Its wisdom, and its quick and ac- 
tive motions. I have seen a hawk fly over a 
hedge where a king-bird had its nest. Wheth- 
er the little animal thought the bird of prey 
intended to rob its nest and eat up its young 
ones, or whether it thought it safest to attack 
the great robber first, I do not know ; but, in 
one instant, it left its nest, and as quick as 
thought was close upon the hawk. Do you 
think that it flew in front of the large bird, 
and attempted to conquer it by open force ? 

" No, no ; it was too wise to act in that 
way. It knew too well what would happen 
if it had put itself in the way of the hawk's 
sharp beak, or strong, sharp, hooked claws. 
The king-bird flew above the hawk, and then 
darted down with its sharp little beak, some- 
times upon the hawk's head, sometimes upon 
its back, and sometimes even on the tender 
parts of its body under its w T ings. It could 
not have done this if it had not been wonder- 
fully active, for you may be sure the hawk 
tried with all its might to get away : but the 
king-bird flew so swiftly round about its ene- 
my, and darted up and down so fast that my 
eyes could hardly follow it, and it was impos- 
sible for the hawk to leave it behind. I did 
not see the end of the fight ; but I am told 
that the little bird will tease large birds in 
that way for an hour together. If they try 
to turn upon him he will dart at their eyes, 



176 



THE KING-BIRD. 



t 



so that they are glad to hang their heads and 
only strive to fly away. If they alight upon 
a tree he will sometimes settle on another 
branch above them, and wait till they again 
take wing. In this way he will go on until 
he is sure that they are far enough from his 
nest, and too tired to do him any harm. 

" This is a pretty history about the king- 
bird ; but I did not tell it merely to amuse 
you. I wish you to learn a lesson from it." 

" Oh ! but father says we must never quar- 
rel, and the hymn says, 

8 But, children, you should never let 
Such angry passions rise 

and the Bible tells us s to love even our ene- 
mies !' " 

" True, and I am sure that no lesson which 
I could teach you could be better than such 
advice. But it is not the quarrelsome beha- 
vior of the king-bird that I wish you to copy. 
The little bird knows no better way of de- 
fending its young ones, and is only doing its 
duty when it drives away the hawks and 
crows. But God has given you reason to per- 
suade ; and has made you able to overcome 
evil with good. 

" What I wish you to notice is, the differ- 
ence which is made by the way of doing a 
thing. If the king-bird were to attack the 
great powerful hawk clumsily and lazily, in- 
stead of driving its enemy away, it would be- 
come a prey itself. It is the power of wisdom 



THE ALMOND BLOSSOM. 



177 



and activity over mere size and strength that 
you may learn from the king-bird. Never 
think that you cannot do your duty because 
you are not strong enough, or large enough, 
or have not time. Contrivance and exertion 
will do wonders." 



THE ALMOND BLOSSOM. 

" Dear mamma," said a lovely little girl to 
tier mother, as they were walking together in 
the garden, " why do you have so few of those 
beautiful double almonds in the garden? You 
have hardly a bed where there is not a tuft 
of violets, and they are so much plainer ! 
what can be the reason V 9 

" My dear child." said, the mother, " gather 
me a bunch of each. Then I will tell you 
why I prefer the humble violet." 

The little girl ran oif, and soon returned 
with a fine bunch of the beautiful almond 
and a few violets. 

" Smell them, my love," said her mother, 
" and see which is the sweetest." 

The child smelled again and again, and 
could scarcely believe herself, that the lovely 
almond had no scent ; while the plain violet 
had a delightful odor. 

" Well, my child, which is the sweetest V 9 

" Oh, dear mother, it is this little violet !" 
\" Well, you know now, my child, why I pre- 
fer the plain violet to the beautiful almond. 



178 



THE STORY OF A SIXPENCE. 



Beauty without fragrance, in flowers, is as 
worthless, in my opinion, as beauty without 
gentleness and good temper in little girls. 
When any of those people who speak without 
reflection may say to you, 6 What charming 
blue eyes ! What beautiful curls ! What a 
fine complexion !' without knowing whether 
you have any good qualities, and without 
thinking of your defects and failings, which 
everybody is born with, remember then, my 
little girl, the almond blossom ; and remem- 
ber also, when your affectionate mother may 
not be there to tell you, that beauty without 
gentleness and good temper is worthless" 



THE STOEYOF A SIXPENCE. 

" The other morning a little boy belonging 
to a very poor family was returning from the 
grocer's, where he had been on some errand 
for his mother, with just one sixpence change. 
He had put it, as he thought, safely in his 
pocket ; but when, as he was running up the 
steps of his house, he put his hand in to have 
it ready to give to his mother, the sixpence was 
not there ! — 4 Well, and if it was not !' I think 
I hear some little reader say, 'if it was not ! 
it was only sixpence ! That was but a very 
little money : what would it matter V 

" Perhaps not much to you, my young friend ; 
although, whether you be rich or poor, I can 
tell you, that one who does not care about a 



THE STORY OF A SIXPENCE. 



179 



sixpence now, is very likely in the end not to 
have one to care about. But the family of 
the boy, as I told you before, were very poor. 
They had only what this poor boy and his 
brother, not much older than himself, could 
earn from day to day to support the mother 
and four children. They were quiet and de- 
cent, and their good mother's neatness and 
industry kept them so comfortable in outward 
appearance that hardly any one, to look at 
them, would think how very poor they were. 
I say 4 hardly any one' would find it out — be- 
cause, by looking at their faces, people who 
are in the habit of taking an interest in the 
happiness of their fellow-creatures, might 
observe a quiet look of sorrow, and a thin 
sunken cheek, that could not be misunder- 
stood. 

" These boys were accustomed to leave 
home early in the morning, and work at 
whatever jobs they could find to do. Some 
days they would come home with a few shil- 
lings, some days with only a few pence, and 
sometimes they would have to return without 
having earned any thing. Yet at all times 
their rent money would be hoarded up, even 
if the family went supperless to bed ; for if 
that was not paid they would be turned away, 
and have no place of shelter where they might 
enjoy their only comfort, the company of each 
other. 

" You may imagine, little reader, that even 



180 



THE STORY OF A SIXPENCE. 



a sixpence, to people in their condition, must 
always be of value. But on the morning of 
which I was speaking, it was their alL The 
boy had bought some soap and starch, which 
his mother was to use in washing some clothes 
for a family in the neighborhood, and this six- 
pence was all that she had left to buy herself 
and the two smaller children some of the 
cheapest kind of food to eat through the day. 
while the larger boys were out at work. 

" When he missed the money his first act 
was to turn his pocket inside out, that he 
might be certain it had not got into some 
corner. But no ! no sixpence was there ! 
Then he sorrowfully turned round and went 
slowly back the way that he had come, look- 
ing carefully about until he came to the store 
where he had bought his things. There too 
he searched, and, as it was not there, the 
keeper kindly came out and helped him again 
to look upon the road, and they even swept 
and raked the dirt, but all in vain. 6 It will 
never do, the sixpence is gone,' said the store- 
keeper, as he turned away, — and so indeed it 
seemed. 

" But just then a little girl came by, who 
knew the condition of the boy's family. She 
heard what the man said, and as she thought 
how valuable even a sixpence might be to 
the poor boy and his mother, she felt very sor- 
ry for his loss. But she knew that being sorry 
alone would do no good, and as she saw that 



THE STORY OF A SIXPENCE. 181 

the boy would not give over looking, a scheme 
came into her mind. So she hurried to her 
home, which was close at hand, and got 
another sixpence. Then crossing the street 
as she had done before, she walked past the 
boy (who was still stooping and poring on the 
ground) and slyly dropped the money just be- 
hind him, so that when he turned he could not 
help seeing it. Before she had gone very far 
he did turn round, and then if you had seen 
how his eyes beamed with joy and surprise, 
as he snatched it up and ran home to tell his 
mother of his good fortune, you would have 
said the sight was worth more than a dozen 
sixpences ! But did not the little girl feel 
even happier than he did ? Yes, without 
doubt: for it is written in the Bible, 4 It is 
more blessed to give than to receive.' 

" Little reader, are you poor ? You may 
see from this history that there are others as 
poor, and even poorer. If, (but I hope this is 
not the case) — if you love to be idle or to 
play, more than to try to work and help your 
parents, think of those boys who kept a home 
for their mother and their little brother and 
sister, and be ashamed and mend. At any 
rate, learn what a comfort kindness and af- 
fection in a family may be, even in the worst 
of worldly circumstances. Has God blessed 
you with plenty, and given you many a six- 
pence to spend at your own pleasure ? Think 
how many poor persons there are, to whom 
16 



182 



ESAU SELLING HIS BIRTHRIGHT 



the money that you perhaps waste in buying 
dainties or foolish toys, would be a great 
blessing, and relieve them from the want in 
which they suffer. 

" Observe, too, my young friends, how con- 
siderately the little girl acted, She did not 
wound the feelings of the poor boy (who, she 
knew, had never begged) by openly offering 
her money, but gave it to him in such a man- 
ner that she thought only God and her own 
heart would know what she had done. Go, 
little reader, and as far as you have opportu- 
nity or means, be like that little girl, in wil- 
lingness to do good, and prudence in doing it. 
There is no child so little or so poor, as not to 
be able to do some act of kindness or of love 
for others. Remember, then, what the Bible 
says — 'Be ye followers of God, as dear chil- 
dren ; and walk in love, as Christ also hath 
loved us, and hath given himself for us, an 
offering and a sacrifice to God.' " Eph. iv. 
1, 2. 

ESAU SELLING HIS BIRTHRIGHT. 

" And the boys grew : and Esau was a cun- 
ning hunter, a man of the field ; and Jacob 
was a plain man, dwelling in tents. And 
Isaac loved Esau, because he did eat of his 
venison : but Rebekah loved Jacob. And 
Jacob sod [or boiled] pottage ; and Esau 
came from the field, and he was faint. And 



ESAU SELLING HIS BIRTHRIGHT. 183 

£sau said to Jacob, Feed me, I pray thee, 
with that same red pottage, for I am faint : 
therefore was his name called Edom [or Red.] 
And Jacob said, ' Sell me this day thy birth- 
right. And Esau said, Behold, I am at the 
point to die ; and what profit shall this birth- 
right do to me ? And Jacob said, Swear to 
me this day ; and he s ware unto him : and 
he sold his birthright unto Jacob. Then Ja- 
cob gave Esau bread and pottage of lentiles ; 
and he did eat and drink, and rose up, and 
went his way ; thus Esau despised his birth- 
right."— Gen. xxv. 27 to 34. 

Here is a new race springing up : thus 
" one generation passeth away" like a shadow, 
" and another generation cometh." Rebekah 
is now introduced to us as the mother of Esau 
and Jacob : these differed in their pursuits ; 
Esau loved hunting, and was cunning in lay- 
ing his snares to catch his game, while Jacob 
was a plain man, watching his flocks and his 
herds. 

Esau and Jacob were twins, or born at the 
same time ; but Esau having been born a 
moment before Jacob, he was the eldest 
brother. 

Now to the eldest brother, among the He- 
brews, belonged many benefits : among the 
rest he had honor paid him next to his parents ; 
he had a double portion of the inheritance ; 
and the Messiah, or Jesus Christ, was to be 



184 ESAU SELLING HIS BIRTHRIGHT. 



born, in time, in his family — a blessing of the 
greatest price. 

Jacob aimed to get the "birthright," or 
privilege of the first-born : and it appears, 
from another part of this book, that his moth- 
er, being fond of him, wished him to have it, 
and no doubt set Jacob to watch his moment 
to supplant his brother. This affair began 
wrongly, caused much trouble, and shows 
that children are not always the most happy, 
if their parents are so unwise as to love one 
better than another ; therefore wise parents 
love all alike. Besides, if God designed Ja- 
cob to have the birthright, he would have had 
it without outwitting his brother. 

This is a blot on Jacob's character ; and it 
afterwards led to another, as one bad thing 
generally does. But Jacob turned out an ex- 
cellent man at last ; we must therefore follow 
that which was good in him, and not dwell 
on his faults. 

Esau, however, deserved to lose his birth- 
right, for he did not seem to set much value 
upon it, when he sold it for a paltry mess of 
pottage. No doubt he could have got some- 
thing else in his mother s house ; but on reach- 
ing home hungry and tired, after hunting, 
nothing else would suit his fancy but Jacob's 
mess which he had been preparing ; and so 
Jacob, seizing the opportunity, made his bar- 
gain and tricked poor Esau. 

Jacob's pottage was made of lentils. — 



THE INFANTAS PRAYER. 



185 



<{ What were they V 9 A kind of bean, which 
is still used in those parts, and makes a drink 
looking red, something like coffee : and for 
this " Esau despised his birthright." 

But many who blame Esau do worse than 
he. They cannot have heaven and the sins 
and follies of this world too ; so they prefer 
the silly things called pleasures, and risk the 
happiness of religion ; and so, as Esau, for 
one morsel of meat, they sell their heavenly 
inheritance, and lose that good part which 
shall not be taken away from them that choose 
and love it. 

THE INFANT^ PRAYER. 

Oh Thou ! who mak'st the Sun to rise, 
Beam on my soul, illume mine eyes, 

And guide me through this world of care : 
The wandering atom thou canst see, 
The falling sparrow's mark'd by thee ; 
Then, turning mercy's ear to me, 

Listen I listen ! 
Listen to an infanf s prayer ! 

Oh Thou I whose blood was spilt to save 
Man's nature from a second grave ; 

To share in whose redeeming care 
Want's lowliest child is not too mean, 
Guilt's darkest victim too unclean, 
Oh ! thou wilt deign from Heaven to bear, 

And listen, listen, 
Listen to an infant's prayer. 

Oh Thou ! who wilt from monarchs part, 
To dwell within the contrite heart, 
16* 



186 TIME AND THE TRAVELLER. 



And build thyself a temple there ; 
O'er all my dull affections move, 
Fill all my soul with heavenly love> 
And, kindly stooping from above, 

Listen ! listen ! 
Listen to an infant's prayer I 



TIME AND THE TRAVELLER. 

A traveller, contemplating the ruins of 
Babylon, stood with folded arms, and, amid 
the surrounding stillness, thus expressed the 
thoughts which the scene inspired : — " Where, 
oh ! where is Babylon the great, with her im- 
pregnable walls and gates of brass, her frown- 
ing towers and her pensile gardens ? Where are 
her luxurious palaces and her crowded thor- 
oughfares? The stillness of death has suc- 
ceeded to the active bustle and joyous hilarity 
of her multitudinous population ; scarcely a 
trace of her former magnificence remains, 
and her hundreds of thousands of inhabitants 
have long been sleeping the sleep of death in 
unknown and unmarked graves. Here thou 
hast been busy, O Time, thou mighty de- 
stroyer !" 

The traveller having finished his solilcquy, 
there appeared before him a venerable per- 
son of mild aspect, who thus accosted him : 
" Traveller, I am Time, whom thou hast called 
the mighty destroyer, and to whose ruthless 
sway thou hast attributed the melancholy 
desolation which is here spread out to the 



TTME AND THE TRAVELLER. 187 



i view. In this charge thou hast wronged me. 

Mortals have mistaken my character and of- 
| flee. In their pictdtial representations, I am 
always exhibited as wielding a scythe^ as if my 
only purpose was to mark my way with havoc. 
But, behold me ! — although aged, my step has 
J the elasticity of youth ; my hands grasp no 
|| instrument of destruction ; my countenance 
expresses no fierce and cruel passions. Deeds 
of devastation are wrongfully attributed to 
me, and here I appear to vindicate my name. 

" Since this beautiful world has sprung 
from chaos, I have lent my aid to perpetuate 
its beauty, and to impart happiness to all its 
inhabitants. My reign has been mild and 
preservative. I have marked the course of 
the sun, the moon, and the stars, and during 
the thousands of years in which they have 
rolled in mighty expanse, I have diminished 
naught of their lustre — they shine as bright 
and as sweetly, they move on their course as 
harmoniously, as they did when the world was 
in its infancy. Look at the everlasting hills ; 
they stand as proud and as permanently as 
they did when they rose up at the command 
of their mighty Creator. Contemplate the 
ocean in its ceaseless ebb and flow; I have 
not diminished its mighty resources. 

" But the works of man, you will say, are 
corroded by my touch, and the beauty and 
life of man flee before my approach. Even 
in this you wrong me. I have witnessed the 



188 TIME AND THE TRAVELLER. 

rise and fall of empires, and have seen count- 
less generations of men pass from the stage 
of human life, but in neither case have I 
hastened their doom. Sin has been the great 
destroyer — the vices of men have scattered 
desolation over the fair face of creation. The 
thousands who have fallen on the battle-field 
have not fallen by my hand ; the scattered 
ruins of these once mighty cities, whose me- 
morial has nearly perished, have not been 
strewn by my hand, but by the hands of earth- 
ly conquerors, who have trodden down, in 
their march of conquest, the palaces of the 
rich and the hovels of the poor. The great 
works of man, originating in pride, have been 
subverted by folly and cruelty. Cities once 
proud, populous, and magnificent, have utter- 
ly disappeared, not by the operation of time, 
but in the conflicts of men, and in the execu- 
tion of the just judgments of heaven. 

" Most diseases derive their origin or their 
virulence from human vice or folly ; and wars, 
resulting from the passions of men, swell the 
lists of the dead. Many a furrow is marked 
on the brow of man, which is attributed to 
Time, in which Time has had no agency ; 
and many totter to the grave who go there 
prematurely, and not by the weight of years. 
Men once lived nearly a thousand years, and 
now they seldom fulfil threescore years and 
ten. It is not because I am now more em- 
phatically a destroyer, but because their sins 



MAN AND INFERIOR ANIMALS. 189 

and follies have curtailed the term of their 
existence. Even the works of men in ancient 
days, might have still stood to be gazed upon, 
if no other influence than mine had been ex- 
erted. 

" The stones of Jerusalem's temple are no 
longer recognised ; but they might now have 
occupied their place in the glorious structure, 
had not God otherwise decreed in punishment 
of man's sins. Look at the pyramids of Egypt ; 
there they still stand, the lofty and strong 
monuments of former ages ; I have merely ef- 
faced the names of their vain-glorious builders. 
Traveller ! I am not a mighty destroyer. I 
am the friend of man ; I afford him precious 
opportunities ; I mitigate his severest woes ; 
I afford him seed-time and harvest, summer 
and winter, in agreeable vicissitudes ; let 
him be virtuous, and then it will no longer be 
said I mar his works." 

The venerable personage disappeared when 
he had thus spoken, and the traveller men- 
tally acknowledging the justice of his vindi- 
cation, pursued his travels, to mark with 
greater discrimination the wide-spread deso- 
lation which had been brought into the world 
by human crime. 

MAN AND INFERIOR ANIMALS. 

The chief difference between man and the 
other animals, consists in this, that the former 



190 MAN AND INFERIOR ANIMALS. 

has reason, whereas the latter have only in- 
stinct ; but in order to understand what we 
mean by the terms reason and instinct, it will 
be necessary to mention three things, in 
which the difference very distinctly appears. 

Let us first, to bring the parties as nearly 
on a level as possible, consider man in a sav- 
age state, wholly occupied, like the beasts of 
the field, in providing for the wants of his 
animal nature ; and here the first distinction 
that appears between them is, the use of im- 
plements. When the savage provides himself 
with a hut, or a wigwam, for shelter, or that 
he may store up his provisions, he does no 
more than is done by the rabbit, the beaver, 
the bee, and birds of every species. 

But the man cannot make any progress in 
this work without tools ; he must provide 
himself with an axe even before he can cut 
down a tree for its timber ; whereas these 
animals form their burrows, their cells, or 
their nests, with no other tools than those 
with which nature has provided them. In 
cultivating the ground, also, man can do 
nothing without a spade or a plough ; nor can 
he reap what he has sown, till he has shaped 
an implement with which to cut down his har- 
vests. But the inferior animals provide for 
themselves and their young without any of 
these things. 

Now for the second distinction. Man in all 
his operations makes mistakes ; animals make 



MAX AND INFERIOR ANIMALS. 191 

none. Did you ever hear of such a thing as 
a bird sitting on a twig, lamenting over her 
half-finished nest, and puzzling her little poll 
to know how to complete it ? Or did you 
ever see the cells of a bee-hive in clumsy, ir- 
regular shapes, or observe any thing like a 
discussion in the little community, as if there 
was a difference of opinion among the archi- 
tects ? 

The lower animals are even better physi- 
cians than we are ; for when they are ill, 
they will, many of them, seek out some par- 
ticular herb which they da not use as food, 
and which possesses a medicinal quality ex- 
actly suited to the complaint ; whereas, the 
whole college of physicians will dispute for 
a century about the virtues of a single drug. 

Man undertakes nothing in which he is not 
more or less puzzled ; and must try number- 
less experiments before he can bring his un- 
dertakings to any thing like perfection ; even 
the simplest operations of domestic life are 
not well performed without some experience ; 
and the term of man's life is half wasted be- 
fore he has done with his mistakes, and begins 
to profit by his lessons. 

The third distinction is, that animals make 
no improvements; while the knowledge, and 
skill, and the success of man are perpetually 
on the increase. Animals, in all their opera* 
tions, follow the first impulse of nature, or 
that instinct which God has implanted in 



192 



THE ART OF MEMORY. 



them. In all they do undertake, therefore, 
their works are more perfect and regular than 
those of men. 

But man, having been endowed with the 
faculty of thinking or reasoning about what 
he does, is enabled by patience and industry 
to correct the mistakes into which he at first 
falls, and to go on constantly improving. A 
bird's nest is, indeed, a perfect structure ; yet 
the nest of a swallow of the nineteenth cen- 
tury, is not at all more commodious or ele- 
gant than those that were built amid the raf- 
ters of Noah's ark. But if we compare the 
wigwam of the savage with the temples and 
palaces of ancient Greece and Rome, we then 
shall see to what man's mistakes, rectified 
and improved upon, conduct him. 



THE ART OF MEMORY. 

Erasmus. I am informed that there is a 
certain " art of memory" which is attended 
with this advantage, that it will enable a 
man with little labor to acquire all the liberal 
sciences. 

Desiderius. Astonishing ! have you seen 
the book ? 

E. I have ; but I have not had an oppor- 
tunity of studying it sufficiently. 

D. What does it contain ? 

E. The figures of a great variety of ani- 
mals, as dragons, lions, leopards ; various cir- 



THE ART OF MEMORY. 



193 



cles also, in which are written words, some 
in Latin, some in Greek, some in Hebrew, 
and some in other languages. 

D. In how short a time is this wonderful 
attainment to be made ? 

E. In a fortnight. 

D. A splendid promise, truly ! And can 
you name any one that has acquired all this 
learning in this manner ? 

jE. No, indeed. 

D. Nor is it likely that you will soon. You 
will meet with a man deeply learned by this 
art, and one rich by the practice of alchemy 
in about the same period. 

E. I should rejoice to find the art real. 

D. Perhaps you deem it too much trouble 
to purchase learning at the cost of so much 
toil as it usually requires. 

E. I had rather get it easily. 

D. Yet the toil is inevitable if you would 
get the prize. Gold, silver, and jewels, pal- 
aces and kingdoms, are often dealt out to the 
slothful and worthless : but riches more noble 
than these, and those which are peculiarly 
our own, are obtained only by diligence. But 
the exertions, by which so great an advan- 
tage is acquired, should not be considered 
irksome, when we see multitudes encounter- 
ing the most appalling hazards, regardless of 
the toil, to obtain mean and temporary ad- 
vantages, and often without success. The 
labors of the student are sweet, and the more 
17 



194 



THE ART OF MEMORY. 



so the further he proceeds. It is by no 
means difficult to remove all the weariness 
of study. 
E. How? 

D. By leading the mind to love the process 
by which learning is acquired, and then to 
value the acquisition. 

E. How are these desirable objects to be 
obtained ? 

D. Think what advantages of wealth and 
honor, what authority and power, learning 
has secured to its possessors. Reflect that it 
is knowledge which makes man to differ from 
the brute. 

E. You say well. 

D. Then it is needful that your faculties 
should be brought into proper subjection, and 
that the mind should find delight in those 
things that serve rather for utility than pleas- 
ure. The things that are in their own nature 
excellent, though they may at first seem irk- 
some, will speedily become delightful ; and 
then the master will rejoice in his scholar, 
and the scholar will learn with facility, ac- 
cording to the saying of Isocrates, worthy to 
be inscribed in letters of gold as a frontispiece 
to your book,- — " He that has his heart in his 

LEARNING, WILL SOON HAVE HIS LEARNING IN HIS 
HEART." 

E. I do not complain of want of quickness 
of learning, but of uncommon proneness to 
forget. 



THE ART OF MEMORY. 



195 



D. Your complaint is, that your head is 
like a sieve. 

E. Just so ; but how can I help it ? 

D. You must stop up the holes. 

E. How is this to be done ? 

D. Not by cement, but by diligence and 
attention. He that regards the words and 
not the sense of an author will soon forget 
all. " Words," as Homer says, " are winged, 
and will soon take their flight, unless the 
weight of meaning fasten them down." Your 
first care, therefore, should be to obtain a clear 
understanding of the meaning, which is then 
to be subjected to mature consideration ; for 
which purpose, the mind should be brought 
to bear upon it at different times. If the 
imagination be so much disposed to wander- 
ing that it will not submit to this discipline, 
it is unfit for profitable study. 

E. That is not an easy task, I know very 
well. 

D. Where the mind is so volatile as to be 
incapable of fixing on one particular subject, 
it cannot retain what is heard or read. Lead 
may be made to receive and retain an im- 
pression, for its substance is both soft and 
stable ; but how can water or quicksilver re- 
tain an impression ? If the attention be 
brought under the government of the intel- 
lect, and you diligently attend the company 
of learned men, you will find their conversa- 
tion to be profitable beyond conception, and 



196 



THE ART OF MEMORY. 



your acquisitions will be made with little toil ; 
for, besides the discourse of your companions, 
and their regular daily instruction, suppose 
you hear in the morning eight words of wis- 
dom, and the same number in the evening, 
how great will be the sum at the end of the 
year ! 

E. Very great, indeed, if I could but re- 
member it. 

D. If you hear nothing but Latin well spo- 
ken, what is to hinder your speaking it well 
also in a few months ? for ignorant boys 
will acquire the French or Spanish lan- 
guage in a very short space of time by this 
means. 

E* I will follow your counsel, and endeavor 
to discipline my mind to attention. 

D. I know of no other " art of memory,*' 
but love, care, and industry. Hear nothing 
but what you ought to hear. Read nothing 
but what you ought to read. Hear with at- 
tention. Read with attention. Let your 
heart be upon the subject. Love it for its 
sake, and for your own sake, and for the sake 
of others, to whom, if you remember, you may 
repeat it. Be diligent. Never be unemploy- 
ed. Never idle away time, and with care 
you will surely succeed. The memory is a , 
faithful friend, if properly cultivated, and 
may as well be employed for a good purpose 
as a bad one. 



THE PEDLER AND HIS ASS. 



197 



THE PEDLER AND HIS ASS. 

It was noonday, and the sun shone intensely 
bright, when a pedler, driving his ass laden 
with the choicest Burslem ware, stopped upon 
Delamere forest to take refreshment. He sat 
down upon the turf, and after consuming the 
provisions in his satchel, emptied his dram- 
bottle, and then composed himself to sleep. 
But the ass, which had travelled many a 
wearisome mile without tasting a morsel of 
food, remained muzzled by his side, wistfully 
viewing the blossoms of furze which grew in 
great abundance around them. 

Fatigue and heat, however, overpowered 
the sensations of hunger, and drowsiness 
stole upon him. He kneeled down, and 
doubling his legs under him, rested upon his 
belly in such a position that each of the pan- 
niers which he carried touched the ground, 
and was securely supported by it. But his 
slumbers were of short duration. An angry 
hornet, whose nest had been that morning 
destroyed, perched upon his back and stung 
him to the quick. Roused by the smart, he 
suddenly sprung up, and by this violent mo- 
tion produced a loud jarring of the earthen- 
ware. The pedler awaked in consterna- 
tion ; and snatching his whip, began to lash 
the ass with merciless fury. The poor beast 
fled from his stripes, and was heard of no 
17* 



198 



THE BEES. 



more ; the panniers were thrown off ; and 
the Burslem ware was thus entirely demol- 
ished. 

Thus did inhumanity, laziness, and passion, 
meet with deserved punishment. Had the 
pedler remembered the craving hunger of the 
ass when he gratified his own ; or had he 
pursued with diligence his journey, after fin- 
ishing his repast, no part of these misfortunes 
would have befallen him ; and his loss might 
have been inconsiderable if unjust severity 
and rash resentment had not completed h*s 
ruin. 



THE BEES. 

A dutch merchant who was settled at Bata- 
via procured a hive of young bees from Po- 
land, that he might multiply the breed of this 
industrious insect, and regale himself with 
honey prepared under his own inspection. 
The bees were stationed in a delightful gar- 
den, of large extent, and furnished with the 
richest profusion of fragrant herbs and flow- 
ers. Plenty soon corrupted their disposition 
to labor ; and the stock of honey which they 
collected during the first months of their set- 
tlement was of little value. The expected 
winter did not ensue ; and as they continued 
to enjoy abundance in this happy climate, 
they became improvident of futurity, and 
were no longer at the pains to store their cells 



THE RATTLE-SNAKE. 



199 



with that food which bountiful nature had at 
all seasons provided for them. 

Thus unfavorable was excessive abundance 
to the admired virtues of the bee. And no 
less injurious to many a well-formed youth is 
that affluence which has been heaped to- 
gether by parental toil, to gratify parental 
ambition : but which serves either to nourish 
sloth, by superseding the necessity of ap- 
plication ; or to promote dissipation, riot, and 
profligacy, by giving a false direction to ac- 
tivity. 



THE RATTLE-SNAKE. 

An European youth, sauntering through a 
wood in Virginia, heedless where he trod, 
suddenly heard a harsh rattling noise, which 
silenced the warbling of the nightingales, and 
seemed to strike terror into every living ob- 
ject around him. He looked forward, and be- 
held, across the path which he pursued, a 
large snake, with the head erect, the body 
coiled, and the tail, from which the sound 
proceeded, in continual agitation. Alarmed 
with the danger that awaited him, he hastened 
back to Williamsburgh ; and was eager both to 
recount his adventure, and to give utterance 
to the reflections which it had suggested. 

" How wise," said he, " are the provisions 
of the Author of nature, to guard his favorite, 
man, from whatever may prove noxious or 



200 



THE RATTLE-SNAKE. 



destructive to him ! The lion roars when he 
issues from his den ; the wolf howls in his 
nocturnal excursions ; and the dreadful ser- 
pent from which I escaped this morning, 
shakes his rattle as he crawls along, to warn 
us of the danger that approaches." 

"Cease, young man," replied a venerable 
sage, " to accuse Providence of partiality ; 
nor abuse the wisdom of God by applauses 
which are founded only on pride and igno- 
rance ! The animals you have mentioned in- 
habit many a desert where no human footstep 
can be traced : how then should their instincts 
or exertions have any reference to the securi- 
ty of man ? The lions roar, and the wolves 
howl to rouse the beasts from their secret 
hiding-places : for without such discovery of 
their prey, of what avail would be their 
strength or swiftness ? 

"The snake you saw produces no sound 
with the tail in the ordinary motions of his 
body ; and had not a childish 'fear prevented, 
you might have been a witness to the use 
which he makes of his rattle. That reptile 
feeds chiefly on squirrels and birds, which he 
cannot catch without some artifice to bring 
them within his reach. He therefore creeps 
near the tree on whose branches he perceives 
them; and suddenly shaking his rattle, so 
affrights the poor creatures on which he fixes 
his piercing eyes, that they have no power to 
escape ; and they leap from bough to bough, 



AN EXPERIMENT. 



201 



till, overcome with terror and fatigue, they 
fall to the ground, and are devoured by their 
ravenous enemy.* 



AN EXPERIMENT. 

Two young beech-trees, planted at the 
same time, in the same soil, at a small dis- 
tance from each other, and equally healthy, 
were pitched upon as the subject of the fol- 
lowing experiment. They were accurately 
measured ; and as soon as the buds began to 
swell in the spring, the whole trunk of one of 
them was cleansed of its moss and dirt by 
means of a brush and soft water. Afterwards 
it was washed with a wet flannel twice or 
thrice every week, till about the middle of 
summer. In autumn, when the annual growth 
was supposed to be completed, the beeches 
were again measured ; and the increase of 
the tree which had been washed was found 
to exceed that of the other, nearly in the pro- 
portion of two to one.t 

" Had you seen the commencement of this 
experiment, Alexis, you would probably have 
smiled at the nicety of the gardener, and 
thought his labor misapplied. But the con- 
clusion of it will give you different ideas ; 
and perhaps convince you, by the obvious 

* See Mead on Poisons. 

t See Dr. Hale's Statical Essays ; Mr. Evelyn's Syl- 
va ; and the Philos Trans, vol. xlvii. 



202 THE CHAMELEON AND 'PORCUPINE. 

analogy, that cleanliness and frequent wash- 
ing promote the health, vigor, and growth of 
the body. It may satisfy you also, that vari- 
ous minute attentions in the conduct of your 
education, which at present may seem to be 
superfluous and irksome, are of real import- 
ance, by removing those causes which would 
retard your progress towards manly strength 
and mental excellence. For every habit of 
awkwardness impairs some useful power of 
action ; and as the moss preys on the nutri- 
tious juices of the beech, so false opinions 
and principles despoil the mind of a corres- 
pondent portion of knowledge, truth, and 
virtue. 

THE CHAMELEON AND PORCUPINE. 
A Fable. 

A chameleon once met a porcupine, and 
complained that he had taken great pains to 
make friends with everybody, but, strange to 
say, he had entirely failed, and now he could 
not be sure that he had a sincere friend in 
the world. 

" And by what means," said the porcupine, 
" have you sought to make friends ?" 

" By flattery," said the chameleon. " I have 
adapted myself to all I met ; humored the fol- 
lies and the foibles of every one. In order to 
make people believe that I liked them I have 
imitated their manners, as if I considered them 



THE CHAMELEON AND PORCUPINE. 203 

models of perfection. So far have I gone in 
this that it has become a habit with me, and 
now my very skin takes the hue and complex- 
ion of the thing that happens to be nearest. 
Yet all this has been in vain, for everybody 
calls me a turn-coat, and I am generally con- 
sidered selfish, hypocritical, and base." 

" And no doubt you deserve all this," said 
the porcupine. " I have taken a different 
course, but I must confess that I have as few 
friends as you. I adopted the rule to resent 
every injury, nay, every encroachment upon 
my dignity. I would allow no one even to 
touch me without sticking into him one or 
more of my sharp quills. I determined to 
take care of number one ; and the result has 
been, that w^hile I have vindicated my rights, 
I have created a universal dislike* I am 
called Old Touch-me-not, and, if I am not as 
much despised, I am even more disliked than 
you, Sir Chameleon." 

An owl who was sitting by and heard this 
conversation, putting his head a little on one 
side, remarked as follows : 

" Your experience ought to teach two valua- 
ble lessons. One is, that the world looks 
upon the flatterer w T ith contempt and aver- 
sion, because he seeks to secure some selfish 
object by making dupes of others ; and the 
other is, that he who resents every little tres- 
pass upon his rights and feelings, is sure to be 



204 THE MAN WITH ONE BAD HABIT. 

shunned and dreaded by all who are acquaint- 
ed with his disposition. 

" You, Sir Chameleon, ought to know by 
this time that honest candor is far better than 
deceitful flattery. And you, Neighbor Por- 
cupine, ought never to forget that good-humor 
is a better defence than an armory of poisoned 
quills/' 



THE MAN WITH ONE BAD HABIT. 

Mr. Upton, of Cambridge, was the son of a 
poor, industrious shoemaker. He learned 
his father's trade, and being prudent and 
steady, he was soon in the way of making a 
comfortable little property. He married a 
worthy young woman, who always managed 
to make their own neat fireside the pleasant- 
est place in the whole world to her hard- 
working husband. The floor was always 
nicely sanded, the hearth swept clean, and a 
plentiful kettle of "warm broth or soup was 
always provided for his return. 

Things were in this state at the commence- 
ment of the revolutionary war. Then Mr. 
Upton felt it his duty to join the army. It 
was, no doubt, a sad trial to the honest man 
to leave the place w^here he had spent so 
many happy hours ; but his wife and chil- 
dren must be defended — so he buckled on his 
sword, and without shedding a tear, he hur- 
ried to the camp. 



THE MAN WITH ONE BAD HABIT. 205 



His courage and good conduct were soon 
noticed by the officers, and he was made one 
of Washington's life-guard. Like every one 
else who knew that great and good man, he 
soon loved him with unbounded attachment 
and respect. While the general had his head- 
quarters at Cambridge, it was frequently 
necessary for detachments of the army to 
make excursions into the neighboring towns. 

On one of these occasions, Washington and 
his life-guard were pursued by a company of 
British soldiers. They retired as rapidly as 
possible, but the English being close upon 
their rear, they were often obliged to turn 
and fight. In the midst of the retreat, an 
Englishman had just raised his sword above 
the head of the general, when Mr. Upton 
sprang forward and placed his body between 
him and the commander. The uplifted weap- 
on descended upon his thigh, and crippled 
him for life. 

After they had safely effected their return 
to the American barracks, Washington called 
to inquire concerning the man who had so 
generously preserved his life at the risk of his 
own. " Thanks be to God, my general, that 
your life is saved," exclaimed the wounded 
soldier : " America could lose such a man as I 
am, but what could she do without your hon- 
or?" 

His wound disabled him for battle, but he 
continued to perform various services to his 
18 



206 THE MAN WITH ONE BAD HABIT. 

country until the close of the war. After 
seeing his country in possession of peace and 
freedom, he returned to his home. True, it 
was now almost desolate and comfortless. 
No one had been left to cultivate his small 
farm, and what little stock he possessed had 
been killed for the use of the army. America 
was then too poor to pay their soldiers for 
what they had lost and suffered ; and Mr. 
Upton was obliged to contend with poverty 
as he could. 

His hard-earned bread, however, was sweet- 
ened by the respect which was everywhere 
paid to him. When he swung his axe over 
his shoulder, and went forth to labor in the 
woods, he was always welcomed with smiling 
looks and a cordial shake of the hand from 
his companions ; and the older boys would 
often call out to their little brothers, "Off 
with your hat, Joe, and make a bow, for there 
is the man who saved the life of General 
Washington." 

The poor soldiers of the revolution had but 
few of those comforts which now make our 
firesides so cheerful ; but when the long 
winter evenings came on, dearly did they 
love to fight their battles over again, and 
often would they say to Mr. Upton, " The loss 
of your limb in such a cause, neighbor, is a 
greater honor to you than if you had King 
George's crown upon your head." 

The tears would sometimes trickle down 



THE MAN WITH ONE BAD HABIT. 207 

his cheeks, as he replied, " The Lord make us 
thankful that it saved his honor's life. It is 
little we should have done against all Bur- 
goyne's troops, if his wisdom had not been at 
the helm. I am thinking, friends, that I could 
depart in peace, if I could once more look 
George Washington in the face, and say, 
6 God bless your honor.' " 

Now, my young readers, this was in 1784, 
which you all ought to remember was the 
year after Great Britain acknowledged the 
independence of America, and can you be- 
lieve that only four years after, when General 
Washington desired an interview with Mr. 
Upton, he was ashamed to grant it ? Yes ! 
the man whose bravery saved his general ; 
whose integrity won the respect of his neigh- 
bors ; whose industry had procured a com- 
fortable home, and whose kindness had en- 
sured him an affectionate family, gave way 
to the sin of intemperance. 

Once his little ones used to run out eagerly 
to kiss his healthy, good-humored counte- 
nance ; but now he had become so cross 
and troublesome that children were afraid 
of him. His firm, bold step had become 
weak and trembling with intoxication ; and 
his round, handsome face was now red and 
bloated. 

When Washington visited New-England, 
he sent a servant to request a visit from his 
old preserver. The wretched man heard the 



208 



THE MOON AND THE RIVER. 



summons, and wept aloud. " Heaven knows, 59 
said he, " that in my best days, I would have 
walked from here to Mississippi, for the honor 
which Washington now pays me. But I can- 
not — I cannot carry this shameful face into 
his presence. Tell General Washington that 
my love and gratitude will always follow 
iiim. Tell him that none but the good have a 
right to look upon his blessed countenance, and 
Mr. Upton is no longer among that number." 

If ever my young friends should be tempted 
to persevere in one thing, which they know 
to be wrong, let them remember, that one bad 
habit changed Mr. Upton from a brave sol- 
dier and a respected citizen, into a worthless 
and neglected sot ; procured for him the con- 
tempt of those who once esteemed him ; the 
fear and distrust of his family ; the sorrowful 
disapprobation of his general, and finally 
broke his heart with shame and remorse. 



THE MOON AND THE RIVER. 

It was a bright and beautiful evening. The 
moon shone full upon Charles River, giving 
to view its sparkling eddies, and the little 
verdant islands, which, during my morning 
walk, I had noticed covered with a profusion 
of purple and yellow aster, and the rich, 
scarlet cardinal flower. 

The stream was so lovely, and so still, one 
could almost imagine it felt happy : and as 



THE MOON AND THE RIVER. 



209 



the moonbeams flickered, now here, now 
there, over its gently moving waters, imagin- 
ation likened it to a sleeping babe, nestling in 
its mother's arms, and dreaming of her smile, 
until an answering laugh appeared and dis- 
appeared on its own cherub mouth. 

The moon looked down upon the quiet 
beauty of the river, and spoke thus disdain- 
fully. " You glitter prodigiously, to-night, 
my dear friend. If I were not quite too impor- 
tant a personage to be jealous, I should think 
you meant to outshine me. In good truth, 
you look up in my face with such a silly, 
self-satisfied air, I cannot forbear telling you, 
that all the light you seem to be so proud of, 
is borrowed entirely from me. If I draw my 
silver veil of clouds over my clear brow, for 
one moment, what mortal can see your boast- 
ed splendor V 9 

The stream, nothing daunted, answered in 
a low, melodious tone : " I am not vain of my 
brightness, fair planet ; for, I well know, it is 
not my own. But, with all due humility, al- 
low me to remind your majesty, that you too 
shine with borrowed splendor. If the sun re- 
fuse to gild your darkness, where would you 
find a ray to bestow upon me ? 

" Since, then, we are both reflecting things, 
let us remember that boasting is equally un- 
becoming to us. If much is given us from 
the dazzling source of light and heat, let us 
receive it with humble gladness, and impart 
18* 



210 



THE DISOBEDIENT BOYS. 



it to others, as freely as it is bestowed upon 
ourselves." 

This fable teaehes us, that if we have 
wealth, or talents, or any other great gifts, 
we should remember that they are not our 
own, and ought not, therefore, to be an occa- 
sion of pride. Whatsoever we have, is loaned 
to us for a season, by our heavenly Father, 
and is intended for some good use ; not for 
ostentatious display. 

THE DISOBEDIENT BOYS. 

In the midst of the village of Sandwich 
stood a small, white house, whose nicely 
white-washed fences, well-cultivated gardens, 
and vines of honeysuckle and jessamine, 
twined round the doors and windows, showed 
the industry and neatness of the occupants. 
This pretty little place was owned by Mr. 
Brown ; a poor, but honest and industrious 
man, who gained a support for himself, his 
w r ife, and two children, by day labor on the 
farms of his more wealthy neighbors. 

He employed his leisure hours, after return 
from work, in embellishing his little cottage, 
which, to one of his few, simple desires, 
seemed quite a palace. In this pleasant task 
he was assisted by his two little sons, Edward 
and Henry, who always waited with impa- 
tience for the time of their father's arrival, 
and were ever ready, with their little hoes and 



THE DISOBEDIENT BOYS. 



211 



spades, to render their assistance in the gar- 
den. 

While they were thus waiting one after- 
noon, after their return from school, their 
mother told them that they might go down to 
the sea-shore and dig some clams for their 
father's supper. To this the little boys con- 
sented with alacrity, and immediately set out 
on their errand, for they were always glad 
to do any thing for their parents, who were 
so kind to them. 

After they had quite filled their basket with 
clams, they observed a small boat tied near 
the shore, in which they both seated them- 
selves ; finding that the sun was still far 
above the horizon, and remembering that 
their father never returned home till the sun 
had set, they agreed to untie the boat, and 
sail about for a short time. 

This they ought not to have done, for their 
mother had often told them never to get into 
a boat ; but these little boys, though general- 
ly very obedient, had yet to learn that chil- 
dren will always, sooner or later, find that 
their parents have good reasons for what they 
tell them to do, or not to do. 

They glided along for some time very 
smoothly ; and Edward, the eldest, kept the 
oar in his hand, to be in readiness to row back 
whenever they should wish to return. The 
rsun was just sinking behind the western 
mountains, leaving in that part of the heav- 



212 



THE DISOBEDIENT BOYS, 



ens a vast expanse of purple and gold cloudy 
when little Henry, beginning to be weary of 
the sport, begged his brother to return. 

The oar was accordingly lifted out, and 
Edward used all his strength to change the 
course of his boat, but in vain. The tide 
was going out, and his little strength was 
nothing against the mass of water. The boat 
still drifted on in spite of all his efforts, and 
he was obliged to lay down his oar in fatigue 
and despair. 

Then sadly did they regret their folly in 
disobeying their good mother's advice ; and 
little Henry, in the midst of his tears, declared 
that were he once on land again, he would 
always remember to do what she told him, 
After some time, this poor little boy fell asleep, 
overcome by fatigue and his sorrowful feel- 
ings ; and Edward was left alone to his bit- 
ter reflections. " Ah ! my poor brother !" 
said he, " it is my fault that we are now in 
this danger ; for I am the eldest, and should 
have dissuaded you from this." 

Then he thought upon his father, returning 
from his labors, and finding neither of his 
darling sons to greet his coming. He thought 
of the snow-white cloth spread on the sup- 
per table — of his mother preparing their re- 
freshment, and wondering where her boys 
could be — of the prayer at night — the bless- 
ing and kiss, before they laid their heads on 
the pillow — all these came to his mind, and 



TEE DISOBEDIENT BOYS. 



213 



bitterly did he lament his folly. To the un- 
certain future he dared not look ; for the 
boat, borne on by the current, had passed the 
last point of land in the harbor — and beyond 
that, what could they expect ? He dared not 
trust himself even to think of it. 

The deepening twilight was now dissipated 
by the appearance of the moon, which cast a 
broad sheet of silver light over the body of 
waters. Edward, as he sat motionless and in 
despair, thought he perceived something in 
the distance, moving on the water. Hope 
was suddenly kindled in his bosom, and 
straining his eyes to keep the object in view, 
he discovered that it was a vessel which was 
approaching him. 

He raised his voice, and tried to make him- 
self heard ; but his voice was not strong 
enough to reach them, though the waters 
were as calm as the sleep of the unconscious 
child who lay at his feet. Fortunately, how- 
ever, the man at the helm of the vessel per- 
ceived the boat, and using the glass, discov- 
ered that it contained only two children ; the 
captain was informed, and he immediately 
ordered the ship's boat to be lowered, and 
sent a man to their relief. 

They were taken on board the vessel, which 
was bound to Duxbury, carried there, and 
having told their little story, were very kindly 
treated during their stay, and the next day 
sent in a wagon to Sandwich. 



214 



THE DISOBEDIENT BOYS. 



The anguish of the parents at the loss of 
these children was indescribable. Finding 
they did not return at twilight, Mr. Brown 
went to the shore, and saw there the basket 
filled with clams ; but his children were not 
to be seen. The people from the village col- 
lected, and the names of Edward and Henry 
resounded in a hundred different places, but 
no answer was returned. 

The parents were obliged to return at night 
to their dwelling, late the abode of health 
and pleasure, but now cheerless and gloomy. 
The night was spent in watching and anxiety ; 
and at the break of day the search was re- 
commenced. The father walked twenty 
miles along the coast, hoping to hear some- 
thing of them ; but all his inquiries were 
answered in the same manner, " that no such 
children had been seen, and that no boat had 
drifted that way." 

He was returning home, the next day, with 
a desponding heart and a sad countenance, 
when the first objects that met his eye, as he 
approached his own house, were his two dar- 
lings bounding over the grass to meet him. 
He could scarcely believe his own eyes, till 
he felt them clinging to him, and heard their 
loud shouts of joy. " Come in, come in, my 
childern," said he, " and let us hear about it." 
All fatigue was soon forgotten in the joy of 
meeting, and the relation of their adventures, 
Edward concluded his narrative with a firm 



ROBINSON CRUSOE. 



215 



resolve, never to do any thing which he knew 
his parents would disapprove, in which he 
was heartily joined by little Henry. 



ROBINSON CRUSOE. 

Juan Fernandez is an island in the great 
South Sea, about fifteen miles long and six 
broad. The springs of water which it con- 
tains are excellent, and it abounds with a va- 
riety of esculent and antiscorbutic vegetables. 
Formerly wild goats subsisted in great num- 
bers on its mountains, but the breed is now 
nearly destroyed. Commodore Anson's squad- 
ron, in 1741 9 remained here three months, 
during which time the dying crews, who, on 
their arrival, could scarcely heave the anchor 
with one united effort, were cured of the 
scurvy, and restored to perfect health. The 
commodore sowed in the island many garden- 
seeds, and set the stones of plums, apricots, 
and peaches, which, it is said, have since come 
to maturity. 

About the year 1705, Alexander Selkirk, a 
Scotch mariner, was left by some accident 
on this desert island, where he continued till 
1710, when he was taken up by an English 
ship, and brought back to Europe. The house 
which he built as a shelter from the inclem- 
encies of the weather, and as a defence from 
danger, subsisted in the time of Lord Anson ; 
and is described to have been so small, that a 



216 



ROBINSON CRUSOE. 



man could not without difficulty creep into it 
and stretch himself at length.* When Sel- 
kirk returned to his native country, he related 
his very interesting adventures to Daniel De. 
foe, who founded upon them the History oi 
Robinson Crusoe, the best and most entertain- 
ing moral romance now extant. It displays, 
in a striking manner, the advantage of being 
inured to manual exertions, the value of skill 
in the mechanic arts, the numberless benefits 
we derive from the division of labor ; and, 
above all, it enables us to perceive, in their 
full extent, the intellectual, moral, and re- 
ligious aids we derive from society. Some 
of these improving lessons are admirably en- 
forced in the following little poem, by Mr. 
Cowper, which the reader must suppose to 
have been the soliloquy of Selkirk, on the 
island of Juan Fernandez. 

" I am monarch of all I survey, 

My right there is none to dispute ; 
From the centre all round to the sea 

I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 
Oh solitude ! where are the charms 

That sages have seen in thy face 1 
Better dwell in the midst of alarms, 

Than reign in this horrible place. 

I am out of humanity's reach, 

I must finish my journey alone, 
Never hear the sweet music of speech ; 

I start at the sound of my own. 



* Beattie's Dissertations, p. 565, 



ROBINSON CRUSOE. 



217 



The beasts that roam over the plain, 
My form with indifference see, 

They are so unacquainted with man ; 
Their tameness is shocking to me. 

Society, friendship, and love, 

Divinely bestowed upon man, 
O had I the wings of a dove, 

How soon would I taste you again ! 
My sorrows I then might assuage 

In the ways of religion and truth ; 
Might learn from the wisdom of age, 

And be cheered by the sallies of youth. 

Religion ! what treasure untold 

Resides in that heavenly word ! 
More precious than silver and gold, 

Or all that this earth can afford. 
But the sound of the church-going bell 

These valleys and rocks never heard, 
Ne'er sighed at the sound of a knell, 

Or smiled when a sabbath appeared. 

Ye winds, that have made me your sport, 

Convey to this desolate shore 
Some cordial endearing report 

Of a land I shall visit no more. 
My friends, do they now and then send 

A wish or a thought after me 1 
O tell me I yet have a friend, 

Though a friend I am never to see. 

How fleet is a glance of the mind ! 

Compared with the speed of its flight, 
The tempest itself lags behind, 

And the swift-winged arrows of light 
When I think of my own native land, 

In a moment I seem to be there ; 
19 



218 



CRITICISM. 



But alas ! recollection at hand 
Soon hurries me back to despair. 

But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, 

The beast is laid down in his lair ; 
E'en here is a season of rest, 

And I to my cabin repair. 
There is mercy in every place ; 

And mercy! encouraging thought' 
Gives even affliction a grace, 

And reconciles man to his lot." 



CRITICISM. 

"For not to know some trifles, is a praise."— Pope. 

Boccalini, a celebiated Italian writer, who 
flourished about the beginning of the seven- 
teenth century, adopts the following fiction. 
He supposes that Apollo, holding a court on 
Parnassus, hears the complaints of the whole 
world, and administers in each case impartial 
justice. A critic, having collected all the 
faults of a great poet, offered them to the 
judge, who graciously received the tribute, 
and promised an adequate reward. He there- 
fore delivered to the author a quantity of 
wheat, just thrashed from the sheaf, and 
commanded him to separate, with the nicest 
care, the chaff from the grain. The critic 
engaged in the task with hope and alacrity. 
And when he had completely finished it, 
Apollo presented him with the chaff, as the 



CEITICISM. 



219 



prize due to his merit, and which alone he 
was qualified to value. * 

Such is the reward of those who make it 
their primary object to discover the blemishes, 
not the excellences of the works which they 
peruse ; a fastidious mode of criticism, equal- 
ly unfavorable to pleasure and to improve- 
ment. It originates for the most part in van- 
ity or affectation, and always betrays disingen- 
uousness and want of judgment. Taste and 
knowledge elevate the mind above attention 
to trifles, and candor disposes it to search for 
incitements to praise, and not to censure. 

The following ludicrous incident is related 
by Mr. Pope. " The famous Lord Halifax 
was rather a pretender to taste than really 
possessed of it. When I had finished the 
two or three first books of my translation of 
the Iliad, that lord desired to have the pleas- 
ure of hearing them read at his house. Ad- 
dison, Con grove, and Garth, were there at 
the reading. In four or five places Lord 
Halifax stopped me very civilly, and with a 
speech each time, much of the same kind, 4 1 
beg jour pardon, Mr. Pope, but there is some- 
thing in that passage that does not quite 
please me. Be so good as to mark the place 
and consider it a little at your leisure. I am 
sure you can give it a little turn.' I returned 

* Mr. Addison, in his admirable Commentary on Paradise 
Lost, has quoted this fable of Boccalini, and delivered some 
excellent observations on the folly of hyper criticism. 



220 



IMPORTANCE OF NEATNESS. 



from Lord Halifax with Dr. Garth in his chari- 
ot ; and as we were going along, was saying 
to the doctor, that my lord had laid me under 
a good deal of difficulty by such loose and 
general observations ; that I had been think- 
ing over t'he passages almost ever since, and 
could not guess at w 7 hat it was that offended 
his lordship in either of them. 

" Garth laughed heartily at my embarrass- 
ment : said I had not been long enough ac- 
quainted with Lord Halifax to know his way 
yet ; that I need not puzzle myself about 
looking those places over and over when I 
got home. ' All you need do,' says he, 6 is to 
leave them just as they are ; call on Lord 
Halifax two or three months hence, thank 
him for his kind observations on those pas- 
sages, and then read them to him as altered. 
I have known him much longer than you 
have, and will be answerable for the event.' 

" I followed his advice, waited on Lord 
Halifax some time after ; said I hoped he 
would find his objections to those passages 
removed ; read them to him exactly as they 
were at first, and his lordship w 7 as extremely 
pleased with them, and cried out, fi Ay, now 
they are perfectly right, nothing can be better? 99 



IMPORTANCE OF NEATNESS. 

Among the minor virtues, cleanliness ought 
to be conspicuously ranked ; and in the com- 



IMPORTANCE OF NEATNESS. 



221 



mon topics of praise we generally arrange 
some commendation of neatness. It involves 
much. It supposes a love of order and atten- 
tion to the laws of custom, and a decent pride. 
My Lord Bacon says, that " a good person is 
a perpetual letter of recommendation." 

This idea may be extended. Of a well- 
dressed man it may be affirmed that he has a 
sure passport through the realms of civility. In 
first interviews we can judge of no one except 
from appearances. He, therefore, whose ex- 
terior is agreeable, begins well in any so- 
ciety. 

Men and women are disposed to augur 
favorably rather than otherwise of him who 
manifests, by the purity and propriety of his 
garb, a disposition to comply and to please. 
As in rhetoric, a judicious exordium is of ad- 
mirable use to render an audience docile, at- 
tentive, and benevolent, so, at our introduc- 
tion into good company, clean and modish 
apparel is at least a serviceable herald of our 
exertions, though an humble one. 

Should I see a man, though even a genius, 
totally regardless of his person, I should im- 
mediately doubt the delicacy of his taste and 
the accuracy of his judgment. I should con- 
clude there was some obliquity in his mind — 
a dull sense of decorum, and a disregard of 
order. I should fancy that he consorted with 
low society, and, instead of claiming the privi- 
lege of genius to knock and be admitted at 
19* 



222 IMPORTANCE OF NEATNESS. 

palaces, that he chose to sneak in at the back 
door of hovels, and wallow brutishly in the 
sty of the vulgar. 

The Orientals are particularly careful of 
their persons. Their frequent ablutions and 
change of garments are noticed in every page 
of their history. More than one precept for 
neatness can be quoted from the Bible. The 
wise men of the East supposed there was 
some analogy between the purity of the body 
and that of the mind ; nor is this a vain ima- 
gination. 

I cannot conclude these remarks better than 
by an extract from the works of Count Rum- 
ford, who, in few and strong words, has forti- 
fied my doctrine ; " With what care and at- 
tion do the feathered race wash themselves 
and put their plumage in order ! and how 
perfectly neat, clean, and elegant do they ever 
appear ! Among the beasts of the field we 
find that those which are the most cleanly 
are generally the most gay and cheerful, or 
are distinguished by a certain air of tranquil- 
lity and contentment ; and singing-birds are 
always remarkable for the neatness of their 
plumage. So great is the effect of cleanli- 
ness upon man, that it extends even to his 
moral character. Virtue never dwelt long 
with filth ; nor do I believe there ever was a 
person scrupulously attentive to cleanliness 
who was a consummate villain." 



THE DISCONTENTED MOLE. 



223 



THE DISCONTENTED MOLE. 
A Fable. 

A young mole having crept out into the sun 
one day, met with its mother, and began to 
complain of its lot. " I have been thinking," 
said he, " that we lead a very stupid life, bur- 
rowing under the ground and dwelling in 
perpetual darkness. For my part, I think it 
would be much better to live aboveboard, 
and caper about in the sunlight like the squir- 
rels." 

" It may seem so to you," said the wise old 
mole, " but beware of forming hasty opinions. 
It is an old remark, that it takes all sorts of 
people to make a world. Some creatures 
live upon the trees; but nature has provided 
them with claws, which make it easy and 
safe for them to climb. Some dwell in the 
water, but they are supplied with fins, which 
render it easy for them to move about, and 
with a contrivance by means of which they 
breathe where other creatures would drown. 

" Some creatures glide through the air ; but 
they are endowed with wings, without which 
it would be vain to attempt to fly. The truth 
is, that every individual is made to fill some 
place in the scale of being ; and he best seeks 
his own happiness in following the path which 
his Creator has marked out for him. 

" We may wisely seek to better our condi- 



224 



THE DISCONTENTED MOLE. 



tion, by making that path as pleasant as pos- 
sible, but not attempt to pursue one which 
we are unfitted to follow. You will best con- 
sult your interest by endeavoring to enjoy all 
that properly belongs to a mole, instead of 
striving to swim like a fish, climb like a squir- 
rel, or fly like a bird. Contentment is the 
great blessing of life. You may enjoy this in 
the quiet security of your sheltered abode ; 
the proudest tenant of the earth, air, or sea, 
can do no more." 

The young mole replied : " This may seem 
very wise to you, but it sounds like nonsense 
to me. I am determined to burrow in the 
earth no more, but dash out in style like other 
gay people." So saying, he crept upon a little 
mound for the purpose of looking about, and 
seeing what course of pleasure he should 
adopt. While in this situation he w r as snapped 
up by a hawk, who carried him to a tall tree 
and devoured him without ceremony. 

This fable may teach us the folly of that 
species of discontent which would lead us to 
grasp at pleasures beyond our reach, or to in- 
dulge envy towards those who are in the pos- 
session of more wealth than we. We should 
endeavor to fulfil the duties of that situation 
in which we are placed, and not grumble that 
some other lot is not assigned to us. We 
may lawfully seek to improve our fortunes, 
but this should be done rather by excelling in 
that profession which we have chosen, than 



USE AND ABUSE OF THE APPETITES. 225 

by endeavoring to shine in one for which we 
are unfitted. 



THE USE AND ABUSE OF THE APPETITES. 

Illustrate the wisdom and goodness of Di- 
vine Providence in furnishing man with ap- 
petites, to urge him at regular seasons to use 
the necessary means to support his growth, 
his health, and his life. His reasoning pow- 
ers are ill-adapted to these ends without the 
impulse of instinct. Appetite defined. Re- 
turns periodically, when nature calls for sup- 
plies ; and ceases when satisfied with its ob- 
ject. Is attended with pleasurable sensations ; 
and its gratification may be innocent, lauda- 
ble, or subversive of reason, religion, and 
virtue. Consider the subject under each of 
the following heads : 

I. The innocent state of the appetites im- 
plies the indulgence of them according to the 
simplicity and original intention of nature. 
They are indications of vigorous health ; ex- 
ercise and labor give a zest to them ; and 
only when corrupted, they urge to gluttony, 
sensuality, or drunkenness. Here the situa- 
tion of our first parents in paradise may be 
described : 

" When Eve within, due at her hour prepared 
For dinner savory fruits, of taste to please 
True appetite, and not disrelish thirst 
Of nect'rous draughts between, from milky stream, 
Berry, or grape." 



226 USE AND ABUSE OF THE APPETITES. 



II. The indulgence of the appetites may be 
laudable when the gratification excites com- 
placency of mind ; gratitude to the Giver of 
all good ; and that disposition to communi- 
cate, to which the term hospitality may not 
improperly be applied. " Let us eat and drink 
to the glory of God," both the philosopher and 
the Christian may exclaim ; for it is not merely 
a corporeal, but a mental pleasure. It is a 
hymn of praise to God, an act of social love 
to man. It is the feast of reason and the flow 
of soul. But beware in the midst of convivial 
enjoyments. Say to the overflowing of the 
heart, hitherto shalt thou go, and no further. 
For, the boundary of temperance being once 
passed, the rational is. degraded into the bru- 
tal nature ; and appetite may become the 
habitual pander of folly and of vice. This con- 
sideration will lead to the third head of the 
discourse, under which the evils of gluttony, 
sensuality, and drunkenness may be severally 
discussed. 

III. Gluttony, or excessive eating, is injuri- 
ous to health; stupifies the mind, and creates 
that habitual heaviness and languor which 
unfit a man for the active business of life. 
Hence Solomon has denounced, Prov. xxiii. 
23, that the glutton shall come to poverty, 
and drowsiness shall clothe a man with rags. 
The extremes of this vice are too disgusting 
and odious to require to be dwelt upon for 
animadversion : but lesser degrees of it are 



USE AND ABUSE OF THE APPETITES. 



227 



too often found among persons of every rank 
in life. The cravings of undepraved appetite 
are moderate and soon appeased ; and we 
should be careful not to go beyond nature in 
the indulgence of them. Habits of eating 
much are easily induced ; and these cannot 
be regarded as innocent, because they are a 
waste of the bounties of Providence, and un- 
favorable both to bodily and mental vigor. 

But Sensuality is more dangerous, because 
more seductive than gluttony. It refines and 
renders exquisite the pleasures of eating and 
drinking ; and if it do not oppress and stupi- 
fy so much, it enervates and even vitiates the 
mind in a greater degree than simple excess. 
It occupies a large portion of time, and de- 
votes it to very ignoble purposes ; and this 
charge applies both to the persons who in- 
dulge, and to those who make preparations 
for the indulgence. It precludes the pursuit 
of higher enjoyments and the exercise of es- 
sential duties. It occasions a wanton destruc- 
tion of numberless creatures, whose existence 
is a blessing bestowed by heaven as a mean 
of felicity to themselves ; and to be appropri- 
ated to the use, but not the tyranny, the cru- 
elty, and the abuse of man. This tyranny, 
cruelty, and abuse are extended not only to 
the destruction of life, but to the making 
death itself lingering and full of torture, that 
our viands may be more delicious to the sickly 
and depraved palate. 



228 USE AND ABUSE OF THE APPETITES. 

But neither the grossness of gluttony nor 
the refinements of sensuality are evils of such 
magnitude as Drunkenness. This involves in 
it the same loss of time, of fortune, and of 
health ; and is moreover a direct incentive to 
profaneness, anger, revenge, and other crimi- 
nal passions. It may be divided into two 
species ; sottishness and social intoxication. 
The former is connected with the meanness 
and stupefaction of gluttony, but superadds a 
disposition to quarrelling: and a thirst for 
strong liquors, when privately indulged, is 
more violent and unremitting even than vo- 
racious hunger. 

Convivial ebriety diffuses widely its mis- 
chiefs. It continually lays snares for the un- 
wary, seduces thoughtless youth, and plants a 
corrupter in every neighborhood : for he who 
delights in scenes of intoxication must sedu- 
lously seek for companions in his guilt. Warn 
such a one of the spreading mischiefs he 
occasions. Tell him, that though, from the 
peculiar felicity of his constitution and cir- 
cumstances, neither his health, his family, nor 
his fortune may immediately suffer from his 
intemperance, the case will be far otherwise 
with those whom he tempts to associate in 
his excess ; that he is answerable for the bad 
influence of his example, for the corruption 
of his conversation, for every neglect of duty, 
and for every criminal act which the poison 
he dispenses with such misguided liberality 



USE AND ABUSE OF THE APPETITES. 229 

may occasion : and that though his own vigor 
may for many years secure him against the 
i consequences of excess ; though his fortune 
may be too affluent to be impaired by riot ; 
though his heart cheer him in the days of his 
youth, and he walk in the ways of his heart 
and the sight of his eyes ; yet for all these 
things God will bring him into judgment. 
1 Eccles. xi. 10. 

From what has been delivered it will ap- 
!l pear that the appetites form an essential part 
of our constitution ; that the indulgence of 
them is accompanied with pleasurable sen- 
sations, to increase our enjoyments, and to 
render us more attentive to their calls ; and 
that this indulgence is not only innocent, but 
laudible, if it exercise self-government ; if it 
be made subservient to the higher powers of 
our nature ; and if it be associated with, and 
give energy to liberality, benevolence, and 
hospitality. But, on the other hand, that glut- 
tony degrades us to a level with the brutes, 
that sensuality enervates the frame, deadens 
the moral and intellectual powers : and that 
of drunkenness, it is said by the wisest of 
men, Proverbs xxiii. 29 ; Who hath wo ! 
who hath sorrow 1 who hath contentions ? 
who hath babbling ? who hath wounds with- 
out cause ? who hath redness of eyes ? they 
that tarry long at the wine ; they that go to 
seek mixed wine. 

20 



230 



SPECULATION AND PRACTICE. 



SPECULATION AND PRACTICE. 

A certain astronomer was contemplating 
the moon through his telescope, and tracing 
the extent of her seas, the height of her moun- 
tains, and the number of habitable territories 
which she contains. " Let him spy what he 
pleases, said a clown to his companion, he is 
not nearer to the moon than we are"* 

Shall the same observation be made of you, 
Alexis ? Do you surpass others in learning, 
and yet in goodness remain upon a level with 
the uninstructed vulgar ? Have you so long 
gazed at the temple of virtue without ad- 
vancing one step towards it ? Are you smit- 
ten with moral beauty, yet regardless of its 
attainment ? Are you a philosopher in theo- 
ry, but a novice in practice ? The partiality 
of a father inclines me to hope that the re- 
verse is true. I flatter myself, that by having 
learned to think, you will be qualified to act ; 
and that the rectitude of your conduct will be 
adequate to your improvement in knowledge. 
May that wisdom which is justified in her 
works, be your guide through life ; and may 
you enjoy all the felicity which flows from a 
cultivated understanding, well-regulated af- 
fections, and extensive benevolence. In these 
consist that sovereign good which ancient 
sages so much extol ; which reason recom- 
mends, religion authorizes, and God approves. 

* Harris on Happiness. 



THE WAYS OF PROVIDENCE. 



231 



THE WAYS OF PROVIDENCE. 
A Fragment. 

# # # # # j n vain the hermit labored to dispel 
his doubts, and to impress his mind with more 
just and pious views of the divine adminis- 
tration. They had now reached, in their 
morning walk, the foot of Mount Carmel. Let 
us ascend together, said the holy father. 
Alonzo acquiesced, following his venerable 
guide. Ever and anon they stopped to con- 
template the magnificent scenery below, pro- 
gressively enlarging its amplitude, till at last 
its boundary appeared to be the whole ex- 
panse of heaven. 

Direct your attention, Alonzo, to the dis- 
tant ocean, which connects kingdom with 
kingdom, and, by encircling the whole, unites 
all the nations of the earth into one family ; 
communicating the productions of art and 
nature ; furnishing incentives to industry, en- 
terprise, and science ; and multiplying all the 
conveniences, embellishments, and gratifica- 
tions of life. Still more important, continued 
the hermit, is this vast abyss of waters in the 
divine economy of Providence. It is a store- 
house of the salubrious air we breathe, and 
the source of all the refreshing showers which 
( drop down fatness on the lands ; which sup- 
ply the fountain with its rills, and the rivers 
with their streams. The verdure of the 
meadows below, the luxuriant foliage of yon- 



232 



THE WAYS OF PROVIDENCE. 



der forest, the gay profusion of flowers, the 
sweet perfume of blossoms, and the juicy 
fruits into which they ripen, are the gifts of 
God, through the instrumentality of descend- 
ing rains, aided by the genial influences of 
light and heat. 

Great luminary of heaven ! how wide- 
spreading and beneficent are thy active 
beams ! Day and night, summer and winter, 
seed-time and harvest, come at their appoint- 
ed seasons, as the earth in its revolutions par- 
ticipates of thy cheering rays. To thy illu- 
mination this beautiful landscape owes its 
charms : and the curious structure of the eye 
which beholds it, without thy emanations 
would have been created in vain. 

But a black cloud, like that descried by 
Elijah from the summit of this mountain, 
now rose in the west. At first no bigger than 
the hand, it spread over the expanded firma- 
ment. The whole face of nature underwent 
a mournful change ; and the heart of Alonzo, 
while exulting in all that he beheld, was now 
filled with terror and dejection. He viewed 
the stormy ocean and distant shipwreck with 
affright. He saw the valleys deluged with 
rain, and the inhabitants in their peaceful 
dwellings washed away by the impetuous 
floods. The earth trembled under his feet ; 
and the mountain resounded with hollow 
murmurs, emitting volleys of smoke and 
fire. 



THE WAYS OF PROVIDENCE. 233 

Where now was he to look for traces of a 
benignant Creator, or wise Providence ? Evil 
appeared to predominate in the works of na- 
ture ; and under this gloomy impression he 
recalled to his perturbed memory all the suf- 
ferings which he had endured from his own 
vices, and the guilt of others. His bosom 
was torn with conflicting passions ; and think- 
ing over all the bitterness of dissolution, in 
the anguish of his soul, he was tempted to 
adopt the wicked counsel given to Job, and 
cursing God, to die. 

But the tempest subsided ; the clouds were 
dispersed; the sunbeams began to burst 
forth, and the glooms which overspread the 
firmament vanished like fleeting shadows. A 
solemn stillness ensued, communicating to his 
mind a holy calm, which was succeeded by the 
restoration of its wonted energies. He awoke, 
as it were, from an oppressive dream ; his 
heart waxed warm with devotion ; and lift- 
ing up his eyes to heaven, he thus addressed 
himself to the Deity : — Oh ! my God and Fa- 
ther ! I am now sensible that in mercy Thou 
gavest me being ; and that thy loving-kind- 
ness hath followed me through the whole 
course of it. 

Therefore, in Thee will I repose my confi- 
dence ; for Thou wilt look with compassion 
on a wounded spirit, anxious for thy favor, 
yet conscious and fearful of its own un- 
worthiness. Let the light of thy countenance 
20* 



234 PIETY THE CONSUMMATION OF MORALITY. 

shine upon me, to dispel the darkness in 
which my mind has been involved. Give me 
to feel the comforting influence of thy Holy 
Spirit, that I may indulge no gloomy imagin- 
ations, no vain terrors, nor heart-corroding 
cares. For anxiety depresses intellectual 
vigor, diminishes affiance in Thee, and dis- 
qualifies for the active duties of life. But 
weakness overcome is strength ; errors de- 
tected become the brightness of truth ; and 
penitence for vice may be exalted into the 
sublime of virtue. Teach me to make thy 
terrors cordial, and thy stripes healing to my 
soul ; and fill me with the blessed trust, that 
thy servant, who might have been lost, is 
now happily found ; and that by the present 
sadness of my countenance, my heart may be 
forever made better. 

PIETY THE CONSUMMATION OF MORALITY. 

" And when all things shall be subdued unto 
him, then shall the Son also be subject unto 
him that put all things under him, that God 
may be all in all." — 1 Cor. xv. 28. These 
words afford an awful and sublime view of 
the final consummation of all things : and 
though no language, however energetic or 
dignified, can give us adequate conceptions 
of the counsels of the Almighty ; yet the great 
scheme of divine wisdom and goodness, we 
are assured by the inspired Apostle, is carry- 



PIETY THE CONSUMMATION OF MORALITY. 235 

ing on with a steady and uniform progress. 
The end cometh when the kingdom shall be 
delivered up to the Father, and all rule, and 
all authority and power, shall be put down ; 
that God may be all in all. 

It is the privilege and the glory of our na- 
ture that we are formed with capacities for 
the knowledge and love of its great and be- 
nevolent Author. Limited as this knowledge 
and love maybe, in the present infancy of our 
existence, the universal and spiritual domin- 
ion of God, which St. Paul hath announced, 
implies their future exaltation ; and that in 
the exercise and improvement of our intel- 
lectual and moral faculties, we shall ever be 
approaching to, though ever infinitely distant 
from, the Fountain of all excellence. To co- 
operate with divine wisdom and power, and 
to accelerate the complete subjection of our 
souls to the government of God, constitutes 
our duty and our highest interest. The duty 
enters into every relation which we sustain 
in the present life ; and will be our supreme 
and everlasting good in that which is to 
come. 

Permit me, therefore, to call your serious 
attention to this momentous subject ; that we 
may trace the Divinity within us, and discover 
our intimate union with him, in all the moral 
dependencies and connections of our nature. 
Morality is the government, culture, and right 
direction of the faculties, passions, and affec- 



236 PIETY THE CONSUMMATION OF MORALITY, 

tions of the human mind. That God may be 
all in all, he must become their primary ob- 
ject ; and I shall endeavor to show that piety 
is the consummation of morality, by consider- 
ing, 

1st, Its connection with, and influence on, 
social ; and, 

2dly, On the personal virtues of mankind. 

When the Pharisee tempted our Savior, in- 
quiring of him, which is the great command- 
ment in the law ? Jesus said unto him, Thou 
shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy 
heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy 
mind. This is the first and great command- 
ment. And the second is like unto it. Thou 
shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. We have 
here the authority of our divine Master, for 
the strict coincidence of the love of man with 
the love of God. And if we view the Deity 
as the parent of ourselves, and of all the in- 
habitants of this world, and feel towards Him 
filial veneration and attachment, we are ne- 
cessarily incited to regard the whole human 
race as brethren, to cherish benevolence 
towards them, and to co-operate with our 
common Father in the exercise of beneficence 
and good-will. 

Piety thus forms the constituent of all the 
generous and tender charities of the human 
heart. It moves us to mourn with those that 
mourn, and to rejoice with those that rejoice. 
It suspends anger, mollifies resentment, and 



PIETY THE CONSUMMATION OF MORALITY. 237 

disposes to complete forgiveness. Awfully 
sensible of the greatness and of the perfection 
of the Deity, and of our own imbecility and 
guilt, we look up to Him for tenderness to- 
wards our infirmity, and for the pardon of our 
sins. And as our fellow-creatures are in cir- 
cumstances precisely similar, we intuitively 
deduce, from such reflection, the obligation 
of indulgence to them, and the duties of for- 
bearance and long-suffering; and thus we 
supplicate the Father of all to forgive us our 
trespasses, as we forgive his children, and our 
brethren, their trespasses against us. 

When we contemplate in the Deity the 
sublime attribute of Justice, as displayed to- 
wards all the subjects of his government, we 
derive, from this consideration, the clearest 
knowledge of its nature and universality, the 
purest regard to it, and the strongest convic- 
tion of its moral obligation. To render to 
every one his due is the law of justice, simple 
in its import, equally binding on all, and with- 
out limitation, either of time or place. The 
providence of God is one uniform display of 
it ; and though his ways are not our ways, 
nor his thoughts our thoughts, so that we can- 
not always trace the absolute equity of his 
administrations ; yet we are assured, both 
from reason and scripture, that the Lord is 
righteous in all his ways, and holy in all his 
works. 

Impressed with this conviction, and eleva- 



238 PIETY THE CONSUMMATION OF MORALITY. 



ted in our views' of the divine attribute of 
justice, a superiority is formed to every temp- 
tation to fraud, perfidy, extortion, and vio- 
lence. Magistrates will be, without partiality, 
a terror to evil-doers, and a praise and pro- 
tection to them that do well. Masters will 
impose no unnecessary burdens on their ser- 
vants, and give unto them the retribution 
which is due : and servants will honor and 
obey their masters, not with eye-service, but 
in singleness of heart, with good- will, doing 
service as to the Lord, and not to man. In 
commerce, the evangelical rule will be strict- 
ly observed ; and men in all their dealings 
will do unto others as they would that others 
should do unto them. 

Even towards the brute creation the jus- 
tice of the divine government, when deeply 
impressed upon our minds, will powerfully 
and steadily influence our conduct. W e shall 
regard them as nature's commoners, and thus 
holding a sacred title to the common gifts of 
heaven. We shall treat them neither with 
caprice nor cruelty ; we shall use with- 
out abusing them ; and we shall feed such as 
have been domesticated for our benefit, with 
food ^convenient for them : remembering the 
injunction of God himself, Thou shalt not 
muzzle the ox when he treadeth out the corn. 

But goodness is that attribute of the Deity 
which particularly excites our love. All the 
order and harmony that we behold in the 



PIETY THE CONSUMMATION OF MORALITY. 239 

creation ; all the felicity of the various ranks 
of beings in the universe ; and all the benefits 
and privileges which we ourselves enjoy, are 
the gifts of his bounty. In the contemplation 
of such extensive beneficence, we sympathize 
and exult with all animated nature ; and 
our minds glow with devout gratitude' for 
our ample participation in such diffusive lib- 
erality. 

When the heart is in this sacred frame the 
apostolical prediction is fulfilled, and God in 
us is all in all. Pride, envy, malice, and re- 
venge cannot subsist under such divine influ- 
ences ; and all the sympathetic affections 
will expand and flourish in full vigor. It is a 
law of the human constitution, that by medi- 
tating upon, we love, and by loving we assimi- 
late, excellence to our own nature. This 
may in some respects be true, even when ap- 
plied to those moral attributes of God which 
are least the objects of imitation. 

And when we view him as a Being without 
variableness or shadow of turning, the divine 
immutability prompts to steadiness in our re- 
ligious purposes, and to perseverance in the 
practice of every duty. The spirituality of 
God, in like manner, impels us to offer to him, 
not the incense of the lips, but of the heart ; 
to devote our whole souls to him ; and to 
worship the Father of spirits in spirit and 
in truth. 

The limits prescribed to a discourse from 



240 PIETY THE CONSUMMATION OF MORALITY. 

the pulpit will not permit me to expatiate on 
these instructive and sacred topics ; and I 
must satisfy myself with having thus briefly 
suggested them to your consideration, I shall 
therefore proceed to the second head, deduced 
from my text, viz. 

That the complete spiritual dominion of 
God involves in it the perfection of all our 
personal endowments and virtues. He that 
cometh to God must first believe that he is, 
and that he is the rewarder of them that dil- 
igently seek him. But faith implies know- 
ledge, and the great sources of knowledge are 
the works and the word of God. 

The study of these, therefore, is indispensa- 
bly connected with genuine piety. On every 
part of nature the character of the Deity is 
deeply inscribed. If we look into ourselves, 
it will be found that we are fearfully and 
wonderfully made ; and if we contemplate 
the world around us, we shall behold on all 
sides the most striking manifestations of wis- 
dom, power, and goodness. Every new dis- 
covery opens further views ; and the acquisi- 
tions which we thus make to our stock of 
science are unbounded, because consisting of 
truths multiplied in their relations, and capa- 
ble of abstraction, division, and composition, 
to an indefinite extent. 

The links of this vast chain terminate in 
God ; and he who is best qualified to trace 
them through all their dependencies, will most 



PIETY THE CONSUMMATION OF MORALITY. 241 

devoutly adore that Being who is the cause 
of causes, the first and the last, the Alpha and 
Omega of the universe. The holy scriptures 
speak the same language as the book of na- 
ture ; and in terms which, though they exalt 
our conceptions, are yet clear and intelligible 
to the humblest and least cultivated minds. 
By the word of the Lord were the heavens 
made, and all the host of them by the breath 
of his mouth. The heavens declare the glory 
of God, and the firmament showeth his handy- 
work. Great and marvellous are thy ways, 
Lord God Almighty ! Thou art worthy to 
receive glory, honor, and power ; for thou hast 
created all things, and for thy pleasure they 
are and were created. 

A rational faith in God is pious trust and 
confidence in his divine providence, resigna- 
tion to his will, and fortitude in the perform- 
ance of duty. He, who is omniscient, must 
know what is the highest interest of his crea- 
tures ; He, who is omnipotent, can be subject 
to no impediment or control ; and He, the 
essence of whose nature is goodness, must be 
ever disposed to advance and perfect univer- 
sal felicity. The apparent evils of life would 
entirely vanish, could we regard them, with 
full conviction, as the dispensations of our 
Father. 

But in this imperfect state we cannot divest 
ourselves of human infirmity. Submission^ 
indeed, implies suffering ; and antecedently 
21 



242 PIETY THE CONSUMMATION OF MORALITY. 

to resignation we must feel the chastening 
hand of God. Our blessed Saviour, under the 
prospect of an agonizing death, prayed to his 
Father to remove the cup from him, thus 
evincing a full sense of its bitterness and 
wo : but he instantly and devoutly adds, 
Nevertheless, not my will, but thine be done. 
Actuated by the like piety, in losses, sick- 
ness, and pain, we shall be enabled to kiss 
the rod, and support ourselves with patience, 
and even cheerfulness, under every tribula- 
tion. 

But true piety implies active as well as 
passive fortitude. Human life is a warfare ; 
and we are called, by the providence of God, 
to trials and exertions which involve in them 
difficulty, pain, and danger. Solicitous to ob- 
tain the favor and confiding in the protection 
of our Maker, we are elevated above degra- 
ding fears, and magnanimous in every good 
work. 

Thus in the cause of our families, of our 
friends, of our country, and of mankind, we 
become disposed, and even zealous to sacri- 
fice ease, fortune, and life itself, For the eyes 
of the Lord are upon them that love him ; he 
is their mighty protector and strong stay. 
Look at the generations of old, and see, did 
ever any trust in the Lord, and was confound- 
ed ? Or whom did he ever despise that called 
upon him ? Though I walk through the val- 
ley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, 



PIETY THE CONSUMMATION OF MORALITY. 243 

for thou art with me ; thy rod and thy staff 
comfort me. 

A mind fortified with such holy resolutions, 
and sublime in its conceptions of God and of 
moral excellence, can be subject neither to 
impurity, intemperance, pride, nor covetous- 
ness. Sensual indulgences are held in the 
lowest estimation, where true dignity of char- 
acter subsists. They are subordinate to all 
other enjoyments ; and connect humanity 
with the brutes, and not with heaven. Pride 
is so opposite to the meekness of a devotional 
spirit, aspiring towards perfection, yet con- 
scious of imbecility and guilt, that they can 
never harmonize together. And avarice, in 
proportion as it prevails, excludes every other 
principle of action ; it puts sordid means for 
a noble end, pursues the shadow for the sub- 
stance, and exalts mammon above God. Two 
such masters no man can serve ; for either 
he will hate the one, and love the other ; or 
he will hold to the one, and despise the other. 

I have thus endeavored, with a brevity per- 
haps hardly justifiable on so momentous a 
subject, to illustrate, and to apply to our edifi- 
cation, the prediction delivered in my text. 
That God may be all in all, in the true spirit- 
ual sense of the Apostle, is a consummation 
devoutly to be wished : and it is our privilege 
and felicity, as rational, moral, and immortal 
beings, that we are formed to participate in 
its accomplishment. The world is a school 



244 



THE HISTORY OF JOSEPH. 



of instruction in wisdom, and of discipline in 
virtue : and its business, cares, sufferings, and 
even pleasures, are lessons of Divine Provi- 
dence ; which, if rightly improved, will en- 
large our faculties, expand our affections, and 
train us to the love and imitation of our heav- 
enly Preceptor, Judge, and Father. 



THE HISTORY OF JOSEPH, ABRIDGED. 

Israel loved Joseph more than all his chil- 
dren, because he was the son of his old age ; 
and he gave him a coat of many colors. But 
when his brethren saw their father's partiality 
to him, they hated him, and would not speak 
peaceably unto him. And Joseph dreamed a 
dream, and he told it to his brethren. Behold, 
he said, we were binding sheaves in the field ; 
and lo ! my sheaf arose and stood upright ; 
and your sheaves stood round about, and 
made obeisance to my sheaf. And his breth- 
ren said unto him, Shalt thou indeed have do- 
minion over us ? And they hated him the 
more for his dreams, and for his words. 

It happened that his brethren went to feed 
their father's flock in Dothan. And Joseph 
went after his brethren ; but when they saw 
him afar off, they conspired against him to 
slay him : and they said one to another, We 
will tell our father that some evil beast hath 
devoured him. Bat Reuben wished to deliver 
him out of their hands ; and he said, Let us 



THE HISTORY OF JOSEPH. 



245 



not kill him, but cast him into this pit that is 
in the wilderness. And they followed his 
counsel, and cast him into the pit, which then 
contained no water. 

A company of Ishmaeiites from Gilead 
passed by at this time with their camels, 
bearing spicery, balm, and myrrh, which they 
were carrying into Egypt. And Judah said 
unto his brethren, Let us sell Joseph to the 
Ishmaeiites, and let not our hands be upon 
him, for he is our brother and our flesh : and 
Joseph was sold for twenty pieces of silver. 
And his brethren killed a kid, and dipped his 
coat in the blood thereof; and they brought 
it unto their father, and said, This have we 
found. And Jacob knew it ; and believing 
that Joseph was devoured by an evil beast, 
he rent his clothes, and put sackcloth on his 
loins, and refused all comfort, saying, I will 
go down into the grave to my son mourn- 
ing. 

Thus wept his father for him. But Joseph 
was carried into Egypt, and sold to Potiphar, 
the captain of Pharaoh's guard. And the 
Lord was with him, and prospered him ; and 
he found favor in the sight of his master. 
But by the wickedness of Potiphar's wife, he 
was east into the prison where the king's 
prisoners were bound. 

Here also the Lord continued to show him 
mercy, and gave him favor in the sight of the 
keeper of the prison. And all the prisoners 
21* 



246 



THE HISTORY OF JOSEPH. 



were committed to his care ; among whom 
v/ere two of Pharaoh's officers, the chief of 
the butlers and the chief of the bakers. And 
Joseph interpreted the dreams of the king's 
servants ; and his interpretation being true, 
the chief butler recommended him to Pha- 
raoh, who had dreamed a dream, which Jo- 
seph thus showed unto him. Behold, there 
shall come seven years of great plenty 
throughout all the land of Egypt ; and there 
shall arise after them seven years of famine, 
and all the plenty shall be forgotten in the 
land of Egypt, and the famine shall consume 
the land. 

And the king said unto Joseph, Forasmuch 
as God hath shown thee all tnis, thou shalt 
be over mine house ; and according to thy 
word shall all my people be ruled. And Jo- 
seph gathered up all the food of the seven 
years, and laid up the food in storehouses. 
Then the seven years of dearth began to come, 
as Joseph had foretold. But in all the land 
of Egypt there was bread ; and people from 
all countries came unto Joseph to buy corn, 
because the famine was sore in all lands. 
Now among those that came were the ten 
sons of Jacob from the land of Canaan. And 
Joseph saw his brethren, and he knew them ; 
but made himself strange unto them, and 
spake roughly to them, saying, Ye are spies. 
And they said, Thy servants are twelve 
brethren, the sons of one man in the land of 



THE HISTORY OF JOSEPH. 



247 



Canaan ; and behold, the youngest is this day 
with our father, and one is not. 

But Joseph said unto them, Ye shall not go 
forth hence, except your youngest brother come 
hither. Let one of your brethren be bound in 
prison, and go ye to carry corn for the famine of 
your houses, and bring your youngest brother 
unto me. And their consciences reproached 
them, and they said one to another, We are 
verily guilty concerning our brother, in that 
we saw the anguish of his soul when he be- 
sought us and we would not hear ; therefore 
is this distress come upon us. And they knew 
not that Joseph understood them, for he spake 
unto them by an interpreter : and he turned 
himself about from them and wept ; and re- 
turned to them again, and communed with 
them, and took from them Simeon, and bound 
him before their eyes. And they returned 
unto Jacob their father, in the land of Ca- 
naan, and told him all that had befallen them. 

And Jacob their father said unto them, Me 
have ye bereaved of my children : Joseph is 
not, and Simeon is not, and you will take 
Benjamin away also. But my son shall not 
go down with you ; for his brother is dead, 
and he is left alone : if mischief befall him 
in the way in which ye go, then shall ye bring 
down my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. 
But the famine continued sore in the land ; 
and when they had eaten up the corn which 
they had brought out of Egypt, Jacob said 



248 



THE HISTORY OF JOSEPH. 



unto them, Go again, and buy us food ; and 
if it must be so, now take also your brother 
Benjamin, and arise and go unto the man. 
And they brought presents unto Joseph, and 
bowed themselves to him to the earth. And 
he asked them of their welfare, and said, Is 
your father well ? Is he alive ? And he lifted 
up his eyes, and saw Benjamin his brother, and 
his bowels did yearn towards his brother, and 
he sought where to weep, and he entered into 
his chamber and wept there : and he washed 
his face, and went out and restrained himself. 

Then he commanded the steward of his 
house, saying, Fill the men's sacks with food, 
as much as they can carry, and put my cup, 
the silver cup, into the sack of Benjamin the 
youngest. And the steward did according to 
the word that Joseph had spoken. As soon 
as the morning was light, the men were sent 
away, they and their asses. But Joseph com- 
manded his steward to follow them, and to 
search their sacks, and to bring them back. 

And when Judah and his brethren were re- 
turned into the city, Joseph said unto them, 
What deed is this that ye have done 1 The 
man in whose hands the cup is found shall be 
my servant ; and as for you, get you in peace 
unto your father. But they said, Our father 
will surely die, if he seeth that the lad is not 
with us ; and we shall bring down the gray 
hairs of thy servant our father with sorrow 
to the grave. Then Joseph could not refrain 



THE HISTORY OF JOSEPH. 



249 



"himself before all them that stood by him, and 
he cried, Cause every man to go out from me ; 
and there stood no man with him while Jo- 
seph made himself known unto his brethren. 
And he wept aloud, and said unto his breth- 
ren, I am Joseph; doth my father yet live? 
And his brethren could not answer him, for 
they were troubled at his presence. 

And Joseph said unto his brethren, Come 
near to me, I pray you ; and they came near: 
and he said, I am Joseph your brother, whom 
ye sold into Egypt. Now, therefore, be not 
grieved, nor angry with yourselves that ye 
sold me hither, for God did send me before 
you to save your lives by a great deliverance. 
Haste you, and go up to my father, and say 
unto him, Thus saith thy son Joseph, God hath 
made me lord over all Egypt ; come down 
unto me — tarry not. And thou shalt dwell 
in the land of Goshen, and thou shalt be near 
unto me, thou and thy children, and thy chil- 
dren's children, and thy flocks, and thy herds, 
and all that thou hast ; and there will I nour- 
ish thee ; for yet there are five years of fam- 
ine ; lest thou and thy household, and all that 
thou hast, come to poverty. And behold, 
your eyes see, and the eyes of my brother 
Benjamin, that it is my mouth which speak- 
eth unto you. And you shall tell my father 
of all my glory in Egypt, and all that you 
have seen ; and ye shall haste and bring 
down my father hither. 



250 



THE HISTORY OF JOSEPH. 



And he fell upon his brother Benjamin's 
neck and wept ; and Benjamin wept upon his 
neck. Moreover, he kissed all his brethren, 
and wept upon them ; and after that his breth- 
ren talked with him. And the fame thereof 
was heard in Pharaoh's house, and it pleased 
Pharaoh well, and his servants. 

And Pharaoh said unto Joseph, Invite hither 
thy father and his household, and I will give 
them the good of the land of Egypt, and they 
shall eat the fat of the land. And the spirit of 
Jacob was revived when he heard these things ; 
and he said, My son is yet alive ; I will go and 
see him before I die. And he took his journey 
with all that he had. And Joseph made ready 
his chariot, and went up to meet Israel his fa- 
ther, to Goshen ; and presenting himself unto 
him, he fell on his neck, and wept on his neck 
for some time. And Joseph placed his father 
and his brethren ; and gave them a possession 
in the land of Egypt, in the best of the land, 
as Pharaoh had commanded. 

This interesting story contains a variety of 
affecting incidents ; is related with the most 
beautiful simplicity, and furnishes many im- 
portant lessons of instruction. It displays the 
mischiefs of parental partiality ; the fatal ef- 
fects of envy, jealousy, and discord among 
brethren ; the blessings and honors with which 
virtue is rewarded ; the amiableness of forgiv- 
ing injuries ; and the tender joys which flow 
from fraternal love and filial piety. 



THE BEARS AND THE BEES. 



251 



Different in other respects as your lot may 
be from that of Joseph, you have a father, my 
dear Alexis, who feels for you all the affection 
which Israel felt, and who hopes he has a 
claim to the same generous return of gratitude. 
You have brothers and sisters, who are stran- 
gers to hatred, who will cherish and return 
your love, and whose happiness is inseparable 
from yours : and you are under the protection 
and authority of that eternal Being, the God 
of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob, who sees, 
approves, and will exalt the virtuous. 



THE BEARS AND THE BEES. 

As two young bears, in wanton mood, 
Forth issuing from a neighboring w r ood, 
Came where the industrious bees had stored 
In artful cells, their luscious hoard ; 
O'erjoy'd, they seized, with eager haste, 
Luxurious on the rich repast. 
Alarm'd at this, the little crew 
About their ears vindictive flew. 

The beasts, unable to sustain 
The unequal combat, quit the plain : 
Half blind with rage, and mad with pain, 
Their native shelter they regain ; 
There sit, and now, discreeter grown, 
Too late their rashness they bemoan : 
And this by dear experience gain, 
That pleasure's ever bought with pain. 

So, when the gilded baits of vice 
Are placed before our longing eyes, 



252 



BEAUTY. 



With greedy haste we snatch our fill, 
And swallow down the latent ill ; 
But when experience opes our eyes, 
Away the fancied pleasure flies. 
It flies, but oh ! too late we find, 
It leaves a real sting behind. 



BEAUTY. 

I saw a dew-drop, cool and clear, 

Dance on a myrtle spray ; 
Fair colors deck'd the lucid tear, 
Like those which gleam and disappear 

When showers and sunbeams play : 
Sol cast athwart a glance severe, 

And scorch' d the pearl away. 

High on a slender polish'd stem, 

A fragrant lily grew ; 
On the pure petals many a gem 
Glitter'd a native diadem 

Of healthy morning dew ; 
A blast of lingering winter came, 

And snapp'd the stem in two. 

Fairer than morning's early tear, 

Or lily's snowy bloom, 
Shines beauty in its vernal year, 
Bright, sparkling, fascinating, clear, 

Gay, thoughtless of its doom ! 
Death breathes a sudden poison near, 

And sweeps it to the tomb ! 



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